


Branches

by AwayLaughing



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 06:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 38,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1501007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwayLaughing/pseuds/AwayLaughing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where the Guardian Twelve never rebelled, Sarutobi Asuma takes a lot longer to make his way home. Once he does, he finds it's at a more complicated time than he really wants. With pressure from a dangerous group of nuke-nin mounting, it shouldn't surprise him when he and his grumpy chuunin of a partner end up in a stickier situation than previously assumed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imadra_blue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imadra_blue/gifts).



> I really just want to assauge any fears over the warnings and tags - the character deaths while canon are not major characters, nor necessarily compliant with when they died in the original time line. I tried to keep gore and blood to a minimum, and will be sure to make a warning in the notes for the bloodier chapter.
> 
> I should probably also apologize for there being a prologue - I know plenty of people hate them but with such a divergent plot point, the set up without it just didn't work.
> 
> All that aside - I hope you enjoy this.

The last time Asuma saw Konohagakure it was in the late throes of summer and half empty, summer being the time active and even semi retired shinobi went off to help with the harvest. Some jōnin considered it their last bit of freedom before the new genin were assigned. Now it was barely spring and Konoha looked like the sleeping giant it was. It bristled with shinobi of every rank, each one visibly armed to the teeth, so much so the walls looked like they were being patrolled by angry porcupines more than anything, metal glinting in the light. They were not hiding how angry they were, weren't hiding how ready the were. As such, it was not much of a surprise when Asuma was stopped a solid twenty feet from the gate, which was sealed shut.

 

“State your name and business,” a chūnin with bandages across his nose demanded. He and his partner, another male chūnin, were tense as a wire trap ready to spring, distrust obvious across their faces. Of course, it had only been three days since the attack, but it was odd to be treated as a danger by people from his home town.

 

“Sarutobi Asuma,” he said, “jōnin and member of the Guardian Twelve. I've got a month's leave to help rebuild and to pay my respects.” He kept his voice even, no hint of his annoyance or grief, despite his exhaustion. He knew they had a good reason for this – but Konoha was betrayed from the _inside_ , not one man walking down a muddy road.

 

His name, however, caused an immediate shift, some mixture of surprise, mild panic and even deeper suspicion. “Sarutobi,” Bandages muttered to his partner, barely within Asuma's hearing, “ _shit_ man.” His partner seemed calmer of the two or at least less visibly agitated. The surprise wasn't surprising – as far as Asuma knew there was only one Sarutobi left in Konoha.

 

“Sarutobi-san,” the calm one called down, “please wait here while we get someone who can verify your story.” He visibly paused before leaning down a bit more to be better heard, “and uh, did you want an umbrella or something?”

 

Despite everything, the fact he was almost asleep on his feet, despite the worry and the grief attempting to break through the wall around his emotions, Asuma grinned. “I don't think it will do much good,” he said. He was soaked to the bone already, after all. The rain had started about six hours after he left the capitol, and hadn't stopped in the day and a half since. He had, for the first little bit, been using a carefully placed fūton to keep dry but it hadn't really been worth the chakra expenditure or concentration.

 

Not-Bandages gave a nervous chuckle at the answer and disappeared without another word, leaving Bandages to peer nervously down at Asuma. It made the jōnin feel like a ticking time bomb, if bombs had feelings that was. Not-Bandages, whose apparent lack of appreciation for simple humour has earned him the name Chuckles, reappeared less than a full minute later with a familiar if very sodden silver-haired man next to him.

 

“A greeting from the Copy Nin himself,” Asuma said once they're within talking range, voice purposefully mild, “I've really gone up in the world it seemed.”

 

Kakashi's body shifted in a way that offered the suggestion of a grin beneath his mask, a real one not that stupid eye-thing he'd perfected over the years. “There just weren't any other bastards unlucky enough to recall your ugly mug, Asuma,” Kakashi said. From this close, ten feet or so, Asuma could feel the faint prickle of Kakashi's chakra. Which meant that if Asuma was tired, Kakashi was a few minutes from passing out. He'd always had stellar chakra control, if Asuma can feel him from that far he was not in a good place. He seemed genuinely pleased to see Asuma though, or as pleased as Kakashi ever was.

 

“Ha fucking ha,” Asuma said, stepping up closer. Chuckles shifted nervously, sagging in relief when Kakashi raised a hand in the standard _friend_ motion.

 

“Yeah this is him,” he said – and _now_ he does the eye thing. “And I'm sure he'll play nice while he's here.” _Or else_ , was very clear in the unsaid bits of that statement.

 

“On my best behaviour,” Asuma said. When he'd left he'd been an angry punk with a lot of chakra, a talent that was rare in Fire Country and a chip on his shoulder. It had been nine fucking years though, he'd grown in a lot of ways, mostly for the better. “Now just take me to see my old man.”

 

* * *

 

Asuma left the Hokage's tower and hour later and wasn't surprised to see Kakashi no longer there – Tsuzumi was though, and Asuma offered a tired smile. Riichi, who'd always been Tsuzumi's closest confident, waved slightly, looking haggard and worn. Knowing he probably didn't look any better he opened his mouth to remark – only to be pulled into a hug by Tsuzumi. He shouldn't have been surprised – he'd been the youngest member of their genin team, attached after the death of his team mates and mentor. He'd always been more touchy feel-y than most shinobi.

 

“I knew you missed me,” Asuma said, offering his own awkward little hug back. Tsuzumi snorted and pulled away – Riichi had disappeared into the ether. Tsuzumi looked as tired as Kakashi and himself, and guilty, too. “Hey man,” he said, squeezing his former team mate's shoulder, “don't look at me like that.”

 

He didn't doubt for a moment Tsuzumi would offer a shoulder to cry on, or an ear to lend. Asuma didn't need a pity party though, and he didn't need to rehash his regrets. Not even over saké with friends. He wondered, privately, if he had come home or never left...if he'd _been_ here and not in the capital, would anything be different? He was a good shinobi, a strong fighter. No, he was a damn fine shinobi and a well honed fighter – it was very possible.

 

Tsuzumi just sighed, cracking his neck. “Want to come with me?” he asked, taking the standard shinobi route of _not talking about it_ for once in his life. Asuma frowned.

 

“Go where?” he asked, and Tsuzumi gave a sad grin.

 

“Kiyoshi's little brother is in hospital,” he said, “he kind of tipped us something was off – we're lucky he managed to drag himself to the hospital. If he hadn't chances are we would have been even more off guard than we already were, even if he was in no shape to talk at the time.”

 

Gekkō Kiyoshi was the third member of their very defunct genin team, a scary lady with a grasp on kenjutsu which would have had your average samurai drooling in envy. Her brother was, if he remembered correctly, twenty four now and likely just as deadly. “Hayate, right?” he asked, Tsuzumi nodded.

 

“Yup, we still don't know who exactly worked him over, though we can guess. He was found unconscious and more than half-dead outside the hospital by someone on her smoke break,” Tsuzumi started walking as he talked, heading toward nearby hospital. “He won't be happy when he wakes up.”

 

“The sort of guy to hate missing an invasion?” Asuma asked, Tsuzumi snorted again.

 

“Nah, Hayate probably won't be angry about _that._ One of his kids – he's a first time jōnin sensei – is critical after he got caught between nine Oto-nin.” Asuma blinked in shock, not entirely sure he'd heard correctly.

 

“A genin verses nine insurgents, and he's only critical, as opposed to dead?” Impressive, if terrifying. What was he doing against nine enemies, and how good was he that he wasn't ashes in the wind now?

 

Tsuzumi shrugged, “from what I know he'll be a chūnin if he wakes up,” he said, “showed a brilliant grasp on tactics in his exam, excellent risk and self assessment abilities in mid battle, and had a good head on his shoulders. Even ignoring that, though, well, those shinobi were jōnin.” Asuma almost choked on air.

 

“Sweet kami – who allowed that?” he asked, barely keeping his voice from a shout, “since when do we send a single genin against nine _jōnin_?” Tsuzumi lifted his hands in the universal surrender sign. Merciful Bodhisattva but that was a dumb move.

 

“We _didn't_ ,” Tsuzumi said, “the whole stadium was under a genjutsu – we hadn't even realized four of the genin had broken through until his father took note of his absence, and Kakashi realized some of the others were missing too.”

 

“His dad?” Asuma asked, mildly mystified, “and what does Kakashi have to do with genin?” Surely they wouldn't foist the other jōnin on any poor eleven year olds.

 

“Well two of his genin -” oh sweet fuck they _did_ give the crazy bastard a team - “were gone too, along with one of Yūhi's genin. Shikaku was _not_ pleased.”

 

It took Asuma a brief second to put the Jōnin Commander, Kakashi and Yūhi – Kurenai he assumed – in the same equation. “Shit – Shikaku's son was the genin?” even as he asked they step into the hospital which was brimming with people. Tsuzumi nodded grimly. Asuma vaguely remembered the kid from before he left, a quiet little toddler who hid behind his mother when company came calling. He couldn't recall his name other than the whole Shika-something business. “Do they think he'll recover?”

 

Tsuzumi sighed, “I hope so. Shikaku-sama can be frightening enough without a dead kid to add to the mix. I don't think he'd handle it well. Hayate and Yoshino-san _definitely_ wouldn't – the whole team is close and he _is_ her only son.”

 

Close his ass, Asuma thought. Ino-Shika-Chō were likely beyond close. They were probably raised together from diapers; their dads certainly were.

 

“Interesting thing though,” Tsuzumi said as they stepped into an elevator which was blessedly empty, “rumour has it those nine Oto-nin were taken down with a wind blade.” Asuma didn't see what was so interesting about that. Preliminary reports were saying Suna had been double crossed and decided to get out of Dodge the minute they realized they'd broken the alliance with Konoha for nothing.

 

“So – someone tried to escape and the nine jōnin were in their way,” he said, “it happens.” It wasn't likely a Nara had a fūton, as far as he could tell they weren't particularly prone to _any_ nature jutsu. He'd never seen Shikaku, who was a damn fine shinobi, pull one out, anyway. Tsuzumi gave him the Look, the one that said _I wouldn't say interesting if it weren't._

 

“Gekkō's wounds were caused by a wind blade,” he said, just as the elevator pinged. Asuma lets that sink in – well fuck.

 

“Someone got a kick in the conscience, you think?” he asked, and Tsuzumi made a noncommittal gesture with one hand as they make their way into the ICU, carefully keeping out of the way. Quietly they stepped into a shared room with several people already in it, probably more than there was supposed to be. Immediately he recognized Kiyoshi, seated next to the closest bed. She looked up at their entrance, a slightly dazed look on her face, and was silent for only a second before Asuma has an arm full of trembling former team mate.

 

“I'm so sorry Asuma,” she said, speaking into his shoulder. Her brother was white against his sheets and wrapped up so well you can barely see his pallor. Someone did a number on him. The person on the other bed was smaller, and two roughly equally sized bodies are carefully arranged around him, obscuring him from view. One was a chubby redhead, Akimichi then, and the other was a blonde girl who he guessedwas Inoichi's daughter. They were asleep, Akimichi snoring slightly, but Nara Yoshino was seated next to them, face drawn with worry. She didn't seem to even notice the other people in the room and Asuma looked away. It was not his business.

 

The only other person in the room was a woman Asuma didn't know with dark purple hair and sad eyes. She was staring at Hayate like her entire world rested on his shoulders, and Asuma looked away from the picture she made. Lost for words at the sheer desperation in the room Asuma gently clasped a hand on Kiyoshi's shoulder. Tsuzumi, always happy to help, signed a name to him. Yugao, with something roughly meaning girlfriend when he saw where Asuma's gaze had landed.

 

“How's he doing?” the chūnin asked, voice barely more than a whisper. To Asuma's surprise Kiyoshi smiled.

 

“He almost woke up this morning,” she said, “the nurses and the doctor think he'll regain consciousness some time in the next day,” she jerked her head toward the Nara boy. “And with luck both of them will be out of ICU by tomorrow.”

 

That was good at least, and though he'd like to stay and chat Asuma felt more like an interloper than anything. He'd been gone for just short of a decade, this was not really his circle. Not anymore.

 

“I'm glad,” he said, “really.” She smiled at him, lips trembling, and he turned to Tsuzumi, who was now talking to Yugao-san. “I'm going to find a place to crash, Tsu,” he said calling on the old nickname, “I haven't slept in almost three days.” They had gotten news of the attack on Konoha twelve hours after his father's death, he'd set out six hours later and been on the move since.

 

Tsuzumi nodded in understanding and Asuma offered one last hug to Kiyoshi before promising to stop by Kiyoshi's tomorrow evening for supper.

 

Stepping out back into Konoha, and the rain, he sighed. It was good to be back, despite how terribly wrong everything was at the moment. He hadn't realized he'd missed it until he'd seen the gates – hadn't realized how much it felt like _home_. Several of the jōnin on the street recognized him, waving or nodding as they passed, but not stopping to chat. Everyone was on duty or sleeping right now – there was no in between save for those making time to visit the hospital. Heading away from the tower in search of the visitor district Asuma took note of which faces were missing, which were noticeably older and which were new.

 

He felt uncomfortably like a stranger in a strange land. He didn't think he liked it all that much.

 

* * *

  

The storm had passed by the time Asuma woke, and the sun was high enough to signify to Asuma it was noon. With nothing to do and nowhere to be until Kiyoshi's – he'd have to make an appeal to the jōnin commander to get work – he took his time getting ready, partially so he could avoid the lunch time rush.

 

So, he was a little surprise to see two small figures seated at Ichiraku ramen when he finally made his way outside at quarter past one. One was taller and blond as the Yondaime had been, the other short enough to probably be several years the blond's junior. He came to a stop as he got close enough to cast a shadow when the blond turned to glare suspiciously at him.

 

 _Fuck dad_ , was Asuma's first thought, _did you really think naming him Uzumaki was going to cover the fact he's Minato's twin in miniature_ ? Okay, there was some Kushina there, and they hadn't _known_ he was going to be Minato 2.0, but it had never been a stellar plan anyway. The face he was making was all Kushina though, eyes narrowed in suspicion, mouth curved into a broad grimace.

 

“Hey!” he shouted, loudly too, as Asuma got even closer, “how come I haven't seen you before? Are you trying to invade Konoha?! Wait –,” he turned to his friend, “do you know this guy, Konohamaru? I don't know this guy.”

 

Konohamaru.

 

The name hit Asuma like a sledgehammer, as did the look on the boy's tiny little face. He was not crying, but he was close, and Asuma felt his mild annoyance with the Uzumaki's loudness disappear when his nephew said, “no, Naruto-nii.”

 

Asuma had left shortly after Konohamaru was born – well, ten months after actually, and they'd not met since. He'd been fresh to the twelve when his brother died shortly after Konohamaru's third birthday, and so he hadn't been able to attend the funeral, leaving Konohamaru with just his mother and grandfather as family. He hadn't seen him grow up outside pictures sent by first his brother then his father. They had never interacted aside from a few letters attached to his dad's over the years. He kept them both in a box under his bed, using them to gain information for the gifts he tried to remember to send for the kid's birthday each year. So far he'd only forgotten five times – so, score on that front.

 

He must have been staring at his...well nephew...too long because Naruto moved fast, abandoning his ramen to invade Asuma's personal space. It was funnier than anything else, the little blond trying to glare up at Asuma threateningly. Jinchuuriki or not, he didn't cut an intimidating figure compared to Asuma's six feet two inches of muscle.

 

“I asked your name,” he said, poking Asuma in the chest. He looked slightly startled by how firm it was, if the next two pokes were anything to go by and Asuma smothered a laugh. No need to make the kid even more defensive.

 

“I'm Sarutobi Asuma,” he said simply. The name, much like it had yesterday, had an immediate effect. Naruto made a strange confused sound and Konohamaru stood up off his stool so quickly he almost fell flat on his face.

 

“You're related to the Old Man?” Naruto asked, a waver in his voice, but Asuma didn't get to answer as, for lack of a better word, Konohamaru _flew_ at him.

 

“Ojisan!” he cried, throwing himself into Asuma's chest. Out of instinct Asuma scooped the kid into a hug, more so he wouldn't crash into the ground than anything. Then Konohamaru started to cry.

 

Asuma wasn't too proud to admit it threw him, and obviously Naruto, for a loop as the little boy sobbed into Asuma's shoulder. Unsure of what to do, Asuma wasn't really a kid person, he just stood there. He _was_ kind of hoping Teuchi would remember him and not cause a fuss over some stranger holding the Sandaime's grandkid, but had few thoughts other than that. After a second he felt a hand on one of his own, and he was surprised when Naruto forcefully directed him to rub Konohamaru's back. Oh, right.

 

Konohamaru was not heavy, but standing there with a bawling nephew wasn't very appealing, so Asuma migrated over back to the ramen stand, taking the last of the three stools. Naruto climbed back on to his, managing to look utterly serious while slurping ramen noodles.

 

“If you're his jisan how come I've never seen you around before?” Naruto asked once he'd finished off his ramen. Asuma opened his mouth to answer but Konohamaru, who had since stopped crying but not vacated his lap, took over.

 

“Ojisan is a really important ninja who works for the Daimyō and saves lots of people and creates links to the people,” he said, as if he'd heard it said several times. Naruto looked like a boy trying not to be impressed. Konohamaru wiggled down from Asuma's lap, thankfully, and clambered back up onto his own stool. “The Old Man says – said – he's an ambassador.”

 

Naruto wrinkles his nose. “Don't they sit around talking and being boring?” he asked, “that doesn't sound cool to me. It sounds like something Shikamaru or Iruka-sensei would do.”

 

Asuma snorted, ambassador his ass. “I'm not that sort of ambassador,” he said, “I more of a figurative one.” Konohamaru and Naruto both gave him blank looks at the word. “I mostly hit things.” That perked both boys up, and they easily fell into a pattern of asking too many questions at once for him to answer – and somewhere along the way he got conned into feeding two bottomless pits.

 

“So how long are you staying Asuma-ji?” Naruto asked. The _uncle_ title startled Asuma momentarily. It seemed Naruto did not have a great grasp on propriety, but Asuma let the title slide. He liked the kid.

 

“Just until June,” he said, not liking the way _both_ little faces fell. “I needed to say bye to the Old Man, and I want to help around here too.”

 

“Won't the Daimyō miss you?” Konohamaru asked. It had been revealed over the last few minutes Naruto didn't think much of the Daimyō, and even less of his wife, but liked his niece Naho. Asuma pretty much agreed on all fronts. The Daimyō wasn't a bad man but he was not very interesting or overly gifted in intelligence, and Mme. Shimiji was an acquired taste, one no one but the Daimyō had managed to actually acquire. Naho, who he'd only met once, was pretty sweet and polite, easy to like. Probably very easy to like if you were a boy her own age.

 

“Well he has eleven other guards,” he said. Naruto scoffed.

 

“Yeah but obviously you're the best,” he said, “'cause you're a Konoha jōnin.”

 

Asuma didn't bother telling him that a quarter of the numbers are jōnin from Konoha, the others being monks or members of the Capital Guard – Naruto didn't seem the type swayed by logic. “Whatever you say kid,” he said, checking the sun – he'd been here an _hour_. He was never going to catch Shikaku, who apparently hadn't stayed in one place longer than five minutes since the attack, at this rate. “Look I got to go find the jōnin commander,” he said, and was surprised when Naruto wilted like a badly neglected houseplant.

 

“Good luck.”

 

“Naruto-nii?” Konohamaru asked, sounding worried. Naruto just scowled.

 

“I wanna visit Shikamaru,” he pouted, “but I _can't_ and I'm gonna leave tomorrow and I can't find his dad _anywhere_.”

 

“Shikaku-sama said you couldn’t visit?” Asuma asked, because he _knew_ the kid was allowed visitors. Naruto gave him a Look that said _no you idiot_.

 

“Nah, the nurses don't like me but Shikaku-san's usually cool so he might let me if I can find him but I can't and I gotta go get Ero-sensei's friend so she can fix everyone.”

 

“Well,” Asuma considered the problem. Naruto had, over the last hour, proven to be a loud but kind boy, and it was possible they staff were worried he would wake the patients in the hall or disturb the other visitors, but it was _also_ possible the issue they had was totally out of Naruto's control. “You're not tying to visit the nurses,” he said, “and besides, if Shikamaru is your friend other people shouldn't matter, right? It's not good to leave town without saying goodbye.”

 

He would know, it was one mistake he'd never really get over having made. Especially since the two biggest victims of that stunt were dead and gone.

 

Naruto slurped the last bit of his _fourth_ bowl of ramen before he stood, slapping some money – not enough – down on the table. “You're right! I'm gonna go see him then Ero-sensei and me are gonna find the best healer ever and if Shikamaru's not better when I get back she'll fix him and Hayate-sensei and everyone else too!”

 

Briefly Asuma wondered if he'd not done something terrible as he watched Naruto race away, but Konohamaru was looking at him like he'd just gone and hung the fucking moon. It made him think maybe he didn't care.

 

* * *

 

 

Ero-sensei's “friend” turned out to be one Senju Tsunade, even if she'd not used her family name in years. Though Asuma, being technically on _loan_ , wasn't privy to anything more secret than a C-rank, the mission to find her appeared to have been very exciting, if the half-dead Uchiha Sasuke and hush-hush nature of what happened to him were any indication.

 

He didn't see her, save for the hastily thrown together inauguration, until almost a week into her return to Konoha. She sent, of all things, a pig to go get him, and it was with deep trepidation and a mild amount of indignation – a _pig_ that wasn't even a _summons –_ that he made his way to her.

 

It was odd, he admitted, seeing someone in his father's chair. Oh, there was the brief period where Minato had ruled, but his father had still been alive and...Tsunade wasn't exactly Hokage material. Namely because she openly did not _want_ to be Hokage, but when the other options were Danzō and basically no one else, you took what you could get.

 

Still, it _was_ good to see her – his father's team had been assigned babysitting duty over Asuma and his brother many times, and though Jiraiya was ostensibly the best at it, he had fond memories of all three.

 

Even the traitor; which just went to show.

 

He bowed to Tsunade, though it felt strange to do so even after so many years in service to the Daimyō. Ninja weren't big on formalities, not really, or in being in positions that exposed their back and reduced line of sight, but it was a courtesy, to show he was not some petulant brat who was going to pout at his father's replacement. He was surprised when Tsunade laughed, tired and worn.

 

“Stand up Sarutobi,” she said, “and sit down – I've got a question for you.”

 

That was...odd. He'd been here three weeks, only slated for another three days before he headed back to the capital.

 

“Sure,” he said, sliding slowly into a chair. Tsunade's chin was perched on her hands as she pretty much scowled at him, a bottle of saké next to her. “Though I'm not sure how I can help you – I'm almost as much a stranger here as you, now.”

 

Her stance softened at that, though she took a chug straight from the bottle before speaking. “So, you will be returning to the capital next week?”

 

“Yes ma'am,” he said. She sighed.

 

“I don't suppose one Akimori Taizo has died in the past five years, has he?”

 

For a moment Asuma was silently stunned by the odd question; then he remembered.

 

* * *

 

 

_Five years prior, Fire Country Capital, November 19 th._

 

“Go. Fish,” Tou's voice was a silent hiss as she glared at Kazuma over her cards. The other Guardian barely twitched – though Asuma saw a slight shift of agitation as he reached for the cards and apparently didn't pull a Jack. It was the most cut throat game of Go Fish he'd ever been a part of, but it was also an important one. The loser, after all, has to talk to Taizo about his Problem.

 

Personally, Asuma thought it should be up to Chiriku or Kazuma, them being the official leaders of the group, but ninja hated talking about feelings only slightly less than they liked mental health professionals. When the most junior members, Asuma and Kitane, had dug in their heels, it had lead to this.

 

It was just the four of them anyway – the other five were out for the count with the weird flu Taizo and Ozuru accidentally unleashed on the capital. In fact, they'd already lost Ozuru to it in combination with his wounds, and the doctors and medic-nin alike weren't too confident in Honda Chikafusa's ability to pull through his own illness.

 

The loss of his friend on a stupid make-work mission had been hard on Taizo, enough so he'd taken to spending his off duty hours in gambling dens. So far his own abysmal poker abilities had been cancelled out by the world's unluckiest blonde, or so the story went, but that could only hold so long. As such, someone needed to intervene, but no one really wanted to be the one to get between a shinobi and their coping mechanism.

 

“Asuma,” Chiriku said, “do you have any tens?”

 

Asuma didn't even glance at his cards, smiling grimly. “Go fish.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I'm afraid not,” Asuma said, “though he is considering retirement.” Which was the diplomatic way of saying he was on the edge of being thrown out on his ass. The man had two months to get the feeling back in the two fingers on his left hand or he would be _gone_. Sent packing with a few thousand ryo and a special dispensation to not be arrested for leaving the service.

 

“Where to?” Tsunade asked, and Asuma shrugged.

 

“Wind country, maybe,” he said. Taizo's mother was a Suna shinobi, and together he and Asuma had been the fūton users of the 12. Taizo often talked of starting a ryoken along the Wind Country coast. Tsunade relaxed visibly.

 

“One down,” she said more to herself. Asuma just wondered how much she _owe_ _d_ Taizo, exactly, and how many others were owed besides.

 

* * *

 

 

June came quickly, and the day Asuma left he was not at all shocked to find he was travelling in yet another rain storm. Such was his life. Konohamaru had spent the last few days bargaining with him, trying to get him to stay, but Asuma had responsibilities. Now his nephew, Naruto and Naruto's teacher Iruka were all there to see him off, though Asuma was mystified about the last one. He didn't even know the Uminos when they were alive.

 

Kiyoshi, Kakashi, and Tsuzumi had thrown him a small goodbye party the night before.Which mostly meant alcohol and not discussing any feelings. Still, all three were among the small crowd at the gates. All looking tired and like they needed a shower, but not too down.

 

“You'll come back, right ojisan?” Konohamaru asked and despite the fact he could very easily die before retirement became an option, Asuma nodded.

 

“Of course,” he said, “before you know it.”

 

It was not a fair promise – he may never come home at all, no matter how hard he tries – but he'd made it all the same. Now, he simply had to not make a liar of himself. Easier said than done, he had wracked up a large bounty during his drifter years, and had only added it whilst with the Twelve. Headhunters were _always_ happy to see him.

 

That thought carried him through the gates, flashing one last smile to his well wishers before Konoha's gates clanged shut, everyone on high alert. Shaking his head, Asuma leaped into action, stretching and fervently wishing the rain would clear up sooner than later.

 

It was time to leave home once more, just for a while.

 


	2. Chapter One

Asuma felt inexplicably lost as he stepped outside the Fire Capital into the tame agricultural lands around it. For the first time since he made genin he was without a marker of loyalty. Neither his hitai-ate nor the waist sash which had identified him for the past eleven years were being worn, both packed away in his satchel. Nauma, who alongside Asuma was the last of their generation of the Twelve, stood next to him looking just as put out.

 

“It's been so long,” the older man said, rubbing his chin scar in a familiar gesture of unease. “What are you going to do now?”

 

It was clear Nauma – who couldn't ask a straight question if his life relied on it – was looking for life advice. From _him._ Oh how times had changed. “Well for a second there I was considering joining Chiriku at the Fire Temple,” Asuma said instead of going with the more sarcastic yet honest response, and Nauma gave him a look that was nothing short of horrified.

 

“You'd get kicked out in a week,” he said, “you're about as spiritual as a mud puddle.”

 

“Mud puddles,” Asuma said as he picked his way down the well worn road alongside his one-time partner in crime, “are the meeting of two elements. They're very spiritual.”

 

Nauma laughed, startling a herd of sheep on the other side of a fence, “you're so full of it Saru,” he said, “face it – you're going back to Konoha.”

 

Nauma was, of course, correct. There had never been a question of that, especially not once it became clear that unlike Tou, Sei, and Taizo he was not made for civilian life – and unlike Chiriku and Nauma he _wasn't_ spiritual. Those two had been raised in the Fire Temple itself, they were hard to compete with when it came to harmony with inner self- stuff. His thoughts were interrupted by a rush of chakra as two figures came to a skidding stop in front of him and Nauma.

 

Both were, in essence, Asuma and Nauma's opposites. A white-blonde woman stood in front of Asuma, barely coming up past his shoulder, while Nauma was faced with a towering redhead with a generous figure and eyes as hard as granite. Both were panting as if they'd just sprinted from the Palace to here which was actually very probably exactly what they'd done.

 

“You,” the blonde panted as she gestured at Asuma in a vaguely accusatory manner, “were gonna leave without saying goodbye!”

 

“Rude,” the redhead said, crossing her arms. “Why?”

 

Asuma shrugged, not wanting to explain that shinobi _never_ said goodbye. It was bad luck. Nauma, who was not raised with the wisdom of a shinobi village, tried not to look guilty. “Didn't know what to say,” the temple-raised blond admitted. Both women scoffed.

 

“Oh I don't know,” the blonde said.

 

“Maybe -” the redhead started.

 

“...Aiko -”

 

“Sute -”

 

“- we're retiring to go make babies with someone -”

 

“- and you're Guardians now.”

 

Asuma feigned surprise to cover his amusement, “really?” he said, “I had no clue who they'd be picking to replace us, did you Nauma-san?”

 

“Not at all Asuma-san,” Nauma said, “such a relief to know it's such fine members of the shinobi ranks though.”

 

Aiko and Sute gave them both rather mutinous looks – they weren't buying what the two men had to sell it seemed, but there was a fondness there. These two had come into the guard three years past, shortly after Kazuma's suicide. He hadn't been the same since Ozuru and Chikafusa had died in a botched mission and the fallout there of, but to this day Asuma did not fully understand what had made him take the Samurai's Road. But, the point wasn't that, the point was for the last three years Aiko and Sute had been passed up for promotion as first Kane, then Tou and Sei and finally Chiriku and Taka had all left.

 

The reason had been obvious. Tou had been the only woman in the guard during Asuma's time there and kunoichi were often bypassed because of the assumption they were somehow lesser, but each person who left alive got to appoint a successor – within reasonable bounds – and so Asuma had taken his chance.

 

“We trust you,” Nauma said. He'd always been truthful, or at least truthful for a shinobi, though he compensated by not being terribly talkative. “You can't possibly cock it up more than Denbei did at first.”

 

That made them laugh. Denbei, who had replaced Taizo after it became apparent Taizo would never form a proper seal again in his life, had always been the clown sort, and had carried it over to the Guardian Twelve. No doubt about it – he was a taijutsu powerhouse who could level a building in a single hit if you gave him the right reason, but he was still a hothead with no mouth filter and a penchant for itching powder.

 

“Thank you,” was all Sute had to say. She spoke even less than Nauma, which was wonderfully offset by the fact Aikorarely shut up.

 

“Yeah and um,” for once, however, Aiko seemed to be grasping for what to say, “we're going to miss you. Everyone will, actually but we're supposed to be too tough to tell you and all that shit.”

 

Asuma hid a laugh behind a cough, “you won't even realize we're gone after a while,” he said. For the last two years he and Nauma had been both the top dogs and the outsiders of the Guardian Twelve. Their ten predecessors had died or retired over the last half decade and been replaced with unfamiliar faces. Sure, he'd gotten along with the new replacements, but it hadn't been the same. If he was being honest with _why_ , he would just feel bad.

 

The Twelve were brilliant shinobi ranging from people who could do massive amounts of damage with a single kunai to some of the brightest minds in Fire Country, but it had never been home. Never been as tight knit as his generation of Konoha, raised in and tried in war.

 

Had never been the same as home.

 

Which, when he'd left Konoha, had been what he was looking for. Somewhere where the name Sarutobi meant as little as the name, say, Honda or having no name at all. Somewhere _Asuma_ could become the important part. He had found that too, and he'd enjoyed it and thrived in it. He even had the bingo book stats to prove it.

 

His introspection lead him to miss whatever Nauma had said, but it likely was more important to the women than him anyway. What he did catch was Sute's unusually verbose questions.

 

“Where will the two of you go now?”

 

Nauma shrugged. “Wander a bit, maybe dye my hair to avoid any assassination attempts. I'll probably return to the Fire Temple eventually,” he said. Though the Twelve all got Special Dispensation upon retirement – ones which basically meant they were allowed to leave the shinobi rank and file and not be declared nuke-nin on the spot – Asuma had not suspected Nauma would take the option. Obviously he was right.

 

“I'm headed back to Konoha,” he said. Aiko looked surprised.

 

“Really?” she asked, “won't it be...weird after all this time?”

 

It was a valid question. He'd been gone eleven years, his father had been dead three of them and his brother ten. There was Konohamaru though, who sent him letters every month much to the amusement of those who knew, and Naruto who sent one roughly bi-monthly, always signed _to Asuma-ji_.

 

“Still got family there,” he said, “and well, it's home.” Aiko and Sute were both from ninja temples though not the same one and not the largest Fire Temple like Nauma was, but they seemed to understand. Or they didn't understand at all and took it in stride.

 

“Well, good luck both of you,” Aiko said, “and try not to make some bastard rich for at least another ten years.”

 

Nauma laughed, “just you wait,” he said, “I'm going to live to a ripe old age and Sarutobi here's gonna fall in a ditch and accidentally donate his bounty to some struggling mining town or something.”

 

“Well I'm a giver,” Asuma said, not raising to the friendly bait.

 

The women laughed.

 

“You sure are,” Aiko said, “it was good to have worked with you both.” Without another word the two left to return to their old posts for just one more day, while Nauma and Asuma restarted their journey.

 

“Are you _really_ going to dye your hair?” Asuma asked after a solid ten minutes of walking in silence. Since they weren't on a mission and _were_ on a major thoroughfare, they weren't rushing, but once they got the intersection which lay about a half day's walk from the capital, they'd split up. Nauma would follow the river to the Fire Temple and Asuma would take to the trees. Sure, there was a road, but it was winding and kind of round about – the Tree Top Highway was faster.

 

“No,” Nauma said, “I'm too beautiful for that.” Asuma shook his head and they fell back into silence, leaving eleven years of their lives behind once and for all.

 

* * *

 

 

The difference between last time Asuma had come home and now was, frankly, vast. For one the gates were open, and while there were still two shinobi manning the gate they were relatively young, probably from the freshest batch of chūnin, and probably being punished. They didn't look too pleased, and though he didn't recognize them specifically it was pretty easy to tell which clans they hailed from.

 

The one to the left was the shorter of the two, a well built Inuzuka who was without a doubt one of Tsume's kids. He was a male version of the terrifying clan head. The other was a bored but not unhappy looking Akimichi, one that was actually kind of on the small side for the clan, though very broadly built all the same. They perked up when they saw him coming though, and he was mildly surprised when the Inuzuka used his name.

 

“You Sarutobi Asuma?” he asked, his dog resting two large paws on the half-wall of the gate station to offer Asuma a dog-grin. The gate station wasn't built with comfort in mind and was probably incredibly hot since it barely protected from the elements. There was a reason it was euphemistically known as 'the Box', which also happened to be a moderately well known T&I technique.

 

“Yes,” he said, coming to a stop right outside the little three walled hut. “Was I expected?” The Inuzuka nodded, a large grin on his young face while the Akimichi chomped on a chip.

 

“Konohamaru came by earlier and said a messenger pigeon came from the Capitol,” he explained. Since the only people in the capital who knew Asuma's plans were Aiko and Sute, it was likely the latter's doing – which now that he thought about it might save him from a trip to visit the head of T&I. “He stayed with us for a few hours but his team got called to a D-rank.”

 

Seeing as it was early fall, the D-rank was likely harvesting. Konoha offered money-off on harvest related D-ranks to make up for the fact shinobi ate _a lot_ of food.

 

“Well,” he said, “I'll see when he gets back.” Harvest D-ranks were notoriously boring and safe, the only exception being in war time when they were usually B-ranks – armies ran on their stomachs and Asuma's years as a genin had included the unenviable job of setting up traps to protect his squad and clearing entire fields pretty much alone – it was what he got for having a fūton really. On the plus side his wind blades were very precise, capable of cutting wheat stalks to precise heights. Hell he could cut a single vein if he needed to – he'd done it once on a drunken dare from Tou.

 

The Inuzuka shrugged as if it didn't matter either way to him, and neither boy made any attempt to stop him from going further in, though the Akimichi did say, “the Hokage wants you to schedule a meeting with her.”

 

“Of course,” he said, but the Akimichi did not appear to be done.

 

“And you need to meet with Yamanaka Inoichi, Nara Shikaku and Morino Ibiki. Uh, separately that is,” he gave Asuma a rather pitying look. “I um, don't think Morino-sama is allowed to torture you too much though,” the Inuzuka barked a laughed.

 

“Not a great way to welcome a guy home Chōji,” he said, “you can go on in – all those things can be arranged with Shizune at the Hokage's tower, 'cause you gotta talk to her too, but she'll probably see you right away because it's a medical exam.”

 

Asuma nodded his understanding and considered asking the Inuzuka his name, seeing as he had the Akimichi's, but he'd learn it somewhere else eventually. “Thanks,” he said, offering a lazy one handed wave as he walked past.

 

He was back, for good this time, and he'd kept that damn promise to boot.

 

* * *

 

 

Morino Ibiki was a few years Asuma's junior, but suitably terrifying, especially when paired with Inoichi's smiling face. When you grew up in Konoha you learned to not think too hard about the clan of mind reading ninja, or the clan who could see through most walls in the village or, until recently, the clan which could steal your very _walking_ style. If you thought about those too hard you'd probably go insane, and sanity was an asset in a Hidden Village, even for the civilians. Still, it was hard not to think about when a Yamanaka was staring you down in T &I like a deranged children's photographer.

 

It was somehow made worse by the fact they weren't even doing anything to him right now, instead they were looking over the 'special dispensation' and 'honourable discharge' papers provided by the Daimyō himself. Well, his secretary signed them but the effect was the same logistically speaking.

 

“They're real,” Morino said at last, sounding rather put out. Inoichi nodded, smiling all the while.

 

“Well it looks like your services won't be necessary Ibiki,” he said, much to Asuma's vast relief. Ibiki shrugged.

 

“Well ANBU recruitment is coming up,” he said, “I'll have my fun.” With that he walked off, and Asuma sagged back into the purposefully uncomfortable chair.

 

“No wonder Tou retired to farming,” he said. She was the only one among his cohort who had been Konoha born, the rest had been chakra users trained in the Capital's Guard or in the Temples, “quite the welcome.” Inoichi laughed.

 

“Well Shikaku said to go easy on you,” he said, “he's hoping he can take a day off if I'm gentle. I won't even be casting any jutsu – mostly I'm just here to confirm the only question that matters.” Asuma raised an eyebrow.

 

“If you say so.”

 

Inoichi's smile changed, obviously he _did_ say so. “Can you, Sarutobi Asuma, son of the Sandaime Hokage, be as loyal to the Godaime as your were your father and the Daimyō?”

 

Asuma didn't so much as think about it. “Yes,” he said. Asuma _was_ loyal to Konoha and Fire Country, and to be loyal to those was to support and protect the Hokage, one way or another.

 

For a long moment Inoichi was silent, though Asuma could feel the almost imperceptible probing of his chakra, before a grin split his face.

 

“Very good Asu-kun,” he said, using the _awful_ nickname from so long ago, “now,” with a flourish he pulled several papers from midair, “did you want to take over your father's estates, or would you prefer to rent an apartment?”

 

* * *

 

 

It was only years of living with Nauma and Seito, who, when together, were prone to pranks they would otherwise not consider, that stopped Asuma from riddling the person trying to get through his window with kunai. It _didn't_ stop him from throwing one, eyes barely open, which landed mere millimetres from one very frozen nephew.

 

“Uh,” Konohamaru said when Asuma managed to peel his eye open fully to glare at him. He'd travelled four days to get to Konoha, taking breaks he hadn't _needed_ but were nice, and had already been up for twenty four hours when he'd finally made ground at the village. Then he'd gotten the standard bureaucratic run around from the Hokage, Inoichi and Shikaku, which had added another seven hours to his day, then spent an hour being poked, prodded and evaluated by one Shizune no-family-name-given, and _then_ Shikaku had gleefully given him the midnight to four am guard shift. Asuma was pretty sure he was being punished for someone’s mistakes, actually.

 

Bastards the whole lot of them. The only plus side was Inoichi had, presumably with the help of his daughter, taken it upon himself to get Asuma furniture for the apartment he'd signed a lease for. It was a very tasteful collection of dark wood and red cushioned things. His fridge had even been stocked, and there had been an orchid on his coffee table. He'd had about two seconds to be thankful for the Yamanakas' kindness before he'd passed out on his fully made bed.

 

At any rate, Asuma was not very happy about his 7 AM wake up call.

 

“Hey ojisan,” Konohamaru said, having seemingly regrouped after both Asuma's glare and the kunai. Asuma groaned.

 

“Konohamaru,” he said, trying not to sound like he hated the kid. He didn't, he hated having his sleep interrupted. “Not right now. We'll have supper together later.”

 

Konohamaru, who it appeared, was no longer scared of being turned into a pincushion, jumped off the windowsill onto Asuma's bed. Apparently this _couldn't_ wait. “I needed to say thank you,” the boy said seriously. Asuma opened one eye.

 

“For what?”

 

“Not breaking your promise, Ebisu-sensei said it was a bad promise to make and kaasan I shouldn't be mad if you couldn't keep it but you did,” Konohamaru gave a shy smile. “I'm really glad.”

 

“Me too,” Asuma said, as the only thing that would have stopped him from keeping it was death, and Asuma didn't particularly want to be dead. He'd been an active ninja for over fifteen years now, that made him above average as far as survival went. He was really looking to continue the trend. “But I really need to sleep kiddo.” Konohamaru scowled.

 

“'m not a kid,” he grumbled, but he did make his way back to the window, “meet me at Ichiraku ramen at five, okay?”

 

“Mmhmm,” Asuma said, already rolling over to get back to sleep.

 

“Don't forget,” the boy said even as he slipped out of the apartment. Asuma's response was a loud snore.

 

* * *

 

 

Asuma was half way through his second bowl of ramen – Konohamaru being on his third – when a young pink haired chūnin he did not recognize appeared at the stall. Well, it was not exactly lack of recognition – Asuma was going to bet she was a Haruno – but her exact name went unknown. For about two seconds.

 

“Hey Sakura-chan!” Konohamaru called despite the lack of distance between himself and the chūnin, “you want some ramen? Ojisan is buying.”

 

Sakura's response was a smack upside the head. “Indoor voice, Konohamaru. And I think so, actually,” she said, “Lady Tsunade's a slave driver and I'm going to need to refuel before I pull the night shift in the ER tonight. I am here for Sarutobi-sama, however. Lady Tsunade wishes to see you.”

 

Konohamaru's face fell. “Now?” he asked, and Sakura shrugged.

 

“He can probably finish his ramen,” the chūnin said, “she called in Shikamaru too so she probably wants time to scream at him some over unfinished paperwork or something first.” She eyed Asuma, “and uh, I can buy my own ramen.”

 

“Good,” Asuma said, smiling a little.

 

Konohamaru gave a giggle, “is Naruto-nii back yet, Sakura-chan?” Konohamaru's hopefulness was almost gut wrenching. Sakura shook her head, and he deflated, before managing to bounce back a few short seconds later while Asuma was slurping the last of his broth. “He'll be really surprised when he sees ojisan is back for good,” he said, “I bet he'll be jealous he wasn't here to greet him.”

 

Sakura laughed at that, smiling fondly at the boy, and Asuma patted his head gently. “I'll see you soon,” he said, not pointing out the fact that technically Konohamaru had also missed the chance to greet him. Konohamaru nodded absently, now focused on conning another ramen bowl out of the exhausted chūnin sitting with him. Somehow, Asuma didn't think it was going to work.

 

“Oh hey, kid,” Asuma called over his shoulder, smirking as both Sakura and Konohamaru – the former of whom looked about to resort to violence – turned to look at his retreating form. “No need for this Sarutobi-sama business. It's just Asuma, okay?”

 

 

When Asuma had left Konohagakure for the capital the Hokage's tower had been a skeleton structure, patched in some places, blackened with massive chakra burns and only partially rebuilt. When he'd come back for his father's funeral he hadn't spent a lot of time thinking about the architecture, instead focusing on helping where and how he could so he could avoid thinking about his father. Now though, with things calmer and his grief simmered down, he noticed the changes. One of the wings had never been rebuilt, and inside it had all finally been repainted. Less of the red he remembered from his childhood and more cool greys and whites.

 

The halls were full of people ranging from genin on courier duty to jōnin submitting their reports and even an ANBU squad. They were found just outside the Hokage's waiting room, perched on a bench. Mejika, Shishi, Neko, Nezumi, Uma and what looked like a Koi, none of whom appeared to be on duty. Especially since it looked like Shishi was sleeping. Uma offered him a friendly wave, and Asuma took a moment to try and figure out who it was. She was rather curvy with a long braid notable for being green in colour, the latter of which was more telling than the former. The only person he knew with green hair was Aojima Orika, so he waved back, flashing a smile when she gave him a thumbs up in response.

 

In the waiting room were five figures; a blonde girl he immediately knew was Inoichi's daughter, a boy with hair done in the style of Shikaku he was willing to bet was Shikamaru, the secretary who was an older woman with one eye and only seven fingers, and two ANBU. None of the five reacted to his presence besides a sparring glance from the secretary. The Yamanaka and the Nara were in talks, it seemed, a quietly hissed argument and a conversation the Nara apparently did not want to have, if the slant of his shoulders and drumming fingers were anything to go by.

 

Sidling up to the secretary he offered her a smile, earning a flat, one eyed glare in return. “Sarutobi Asuma for Godaime-sama,” he said. He _felt_ the attention of the arguing teens shift to him, though the ANBU – a bear and some sort of spotted thing – didn't so much as twitch.

 

“Isn't that always the way,” the woman said, her voice as dry as Wind Country's sands. “Take a seat, Asuma, she'll probably sober up enough to see you in a moment.”

 

He did as directed, choosing one far enough so the teens wouldn't feel like he was eavesdropping but close enough to read their body language without trying too hard. Plus – he _could_ overhear from this seat, though only barely. He was pretty sure he caught the girl say something was insane, to which the Nara mumbled something back, which caused her to smack his shoulder just as the door was opening.

 

“Ino,” Shizune said, slightly reproachful, “please no abusing people in the lobby.”

 

Ino stood, jerking Nara up after her to face the medic, “sorry Shizune-san,” she said, to her friend she added, “come on – since you're too busy being a butt to be useful come visit Genma with me -” she turned back Shizune, “did you want a copy of my notes on the variant of water hemlock found in Mangrove?”

 

Shizune offered her a smile, “that would be very appreciated, Ino,” she said, before turning to Asuma. “You can go in, Asuma-san,” she offered Shikamaru an inscrutable look, “tomorrow. Noon, Shikamaru.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” the boy sighed before slinking off, looking a little defeated. Ino watched him, looking torn between being concerned and exasperated. Asuma shrugged the whole thing off as teenage drama and followed Shizune into Tsunade's office.

 

When he'd last been here it had been barren, all his father's stuff gone and nothing added. Now diagrams of the human body, chakra systems and a map of Konoha hung on the wall. The bookshelves were full again and Tsunade sat behind a desk with a pile of papers on one corner. The pig sat on a cushion dozing peacefully, and Shizune took up her spot at the Hokage's side, rubbing the pig gently with her foot.

 

“Another lamb returns to the slaughter,” the Hokage said dryly, “or a lion, as it may be.”

 

“Whichever you decide, Hokage-sama,” he said. She didn't look too bad considering the stress of her position but of course she had more than enough chakra for her henge to cover signs of both fatigue and age.

 

“A lion I think, Sarutobi,” she gestured for him to sit down, “welcome home.”

 

“It's good to be back,” he said, meaning it with every fibre of his being. She gave him a wry smile and he was forced to wonder what he was doing here, exactly. She had a student to teach and a village to run. Asuma wasn't that important, except maybe as a mascot.

 

“I'll be frank with you,” she said, apparently reading his expression. “We're in deep shit. Our last Uchiha has run off with our most famous traitor, our closest neighbour was attacked for his biju, our own jinchuuriki can't stay in one place for more than two minutes and something big is headed our way,” she sighed. “It's why I'm making this offer with you barely a day back.” She pushed a file toward him, and after a nod of permission he picked it up.

 

It must have been notes from the last Defence meeting, mostly on a group the Twelve had been hearing whispers of called Akatsuki, the ones behind the Kazekage's near-miss with death, and the suggestions for dealing with it. The Twelve had resolved to wait and watch, protecting the Daimyō while Konoha worried about their own Hokage.

 

For Konohagakure, _Nijū Shōtai_ was the answer, apparently. Four man squads who were, essentially going to be thrown out of the frying pan into the fire in hopes they'd find the water source to put the whole mess out. Names were listed – a full eighty though a few were crossed out. His own name was the last on the list, scribbled hastily with a question mark after it. Above his was the name Nara Shikamaru, a mix of three nonsense hiranaga next to it. He frowned at that, not understanding, but figured it was none of his business.

 

“You want me for the Nijū Shōtai,” he said, a little flat. When she meant _welcome to the fold_ she really meant it. Tsunade sighed again.

 

“To be honest? I'll throw a fucking party if you say yes. I know the Twelve aren't exactly famous for subtly, but you _are_ famous for not dying horribly. We're fighting an enemy who's goals, abilities and identities are unknown – I've got an entire quarter of Intel dedicated to finding out and my back up plans are this, a hyperactive genin with too much importance,” she tapped her own version of the file, “and a sixteen year old chūnin.” Asuma blinked.

 

“We were subtle – you just didn't hear about those missions,” he said, trying to lighten the mood, “but those uh, second two don't sound too solid, Hokage-sama.” He was guessing, at least, the genin was Naruto. Tsunade snorted.

 

“No kidding,” she said. “So – think about this please. We need captains and we need them soon. You'll be back on field missions next week, for now you're just on wall duty so don't rush. You have until the full moon.”

 

Which was in two weeks. Don't rush his _ass_.

 

“You'll have my answer,” he said. He would probably say yes, assuming he didn't die or become otherwise unable to fight between now and then. Which was always a possibility, sadly. “Was there anything else?”

 

“You're on the wall midnight to 4 on Monday, Thursday and Saturday,” she said, “and you have the 4am to 8am shift on the other days.” Today was Sunday, which must have meant he'd already pulled today's shift.

 

“Thank you, Godaime-sama,” he said, standing and giving a polite bow. She snorted, waving the bow off.

 

“So you say now,” she said dryly, “you'll think twice on that once your cushy wall duty is over.”

 

Asuma regarded her blankly for a moment, “that...was a joke right?”

 

Tsunade just snorted and pointed at the door as if to say out. Asuma did as directed, shaking his head. No ninja under the sun liked wall duty.

 

* * *

 

 

Konoha was not exactly as he remembered it, though he'd not been dumb enough to think it would be. He had not really had time to explore last time he was here, and so he found himself contending with an entirely different city layout than the one of his childhood. Some things remained, of course, and worked as landmarks but for the most part it was different. It at least explained how he almost ended up in unofficial Yamanaka territory without realizing – it was three blocks east of it's original placement. Mildly confused he stood in front of the Yamanaka flower shop for a full minute – mind refusing to process the fact it was on the wrong street. Refusing to process the fact the _right_ street didn't even exist.

 

What made him move was Ino poking her head out and smiling stiffly. “Are you lost?” she asked, and after a moment he shook his head.

 

“Not exactly,” he said, “I've been away a while is all. A few things have changed.”

 

Her mild confusion and suspicion cleared in a second and she stepped fully out of her shop, smiling widely. “Sarutobi-san! I can't believe I didn't recognize you – I just saw you in the office – I'm Yamanaka Ino,” she offered her hand, “how's your apartment?”

 

“It's...well decorated,” he said, not wanting to admit he'd spent very little time conscious in it. The compliment did it's job though, as she beamed at him and ushered him inside after her to his amusement.

 

“Daddy said you wouldn't care but I don't think anyone wants to come home to an empty apartment – I mean no people around is bad enough no furniture would be awful!” As she chattered she slipped out of her shop apron and stashed it behind the counter, locking the cash and trapping it before spinning back around. “I'm just about to meet my team – well old team I guess since we're all chūnin – for an early super, I can help you get reacquainted with Konoha if you want.”

 

Asuma had a lot of flaws – more than his fair share probably – but unwarranted pride had never actually been one of them, so he smiled at the girl. “I wouldn't want to keep you,” he said, and she waved her hand at him dismissively.

 

“Oh Chōji will start eating without me if I'm late and Shikamaru won't care,” she stepped out of the shop, locking it behind her. “Sensei won't mind either, when I say I was showing you around.”

 

“Well then,” Asuma said, “I can't say no to a pretty girl.” Well he could, actually, especially knowing what her father would do to him if he crossed any boundaries, but a rundown of how things had changed was more than safe enough. Ino laughed.

 

“Don't let daddy hear you,” she said, starting down the street, “he's been jumpy lately. Now let's see...have you found the new weapon's depot? I know it used to be nearer to the academy than it is now.”

 

“I know that one,” he promised, “mostly it's tea shops and restaurants I don't know any more.”

 

“Oooh we'll start with Baika – that only opened up six years ago – and then make our way to Atsuihachi,” she set off down the street at a fairly quick pace – nothing Asuma would struggle with but fast enough, a steady stream of chatter accompanying her. Asuma followed in long, loping strides, filtering the pertinent information and trading nods with a few people who remembered him from his younger years.

 

“...used to be a flower shop but of _course_ they couldn't compete with us,” Ino was saying as they passed a pottery shop of sorts, “makes our vases now – the one with your orchid is from here!” Asuma nodded to show he was listening, and relaxed. Even if it wasn't like he remembered, it was good to be back in Konoha.

 

* * *

 

 

Atsuihachi was a low slung building with very large windows and a sunshine yellow awning. Across the front black kanji proudly claimed spelt out the name, a cartoonish bowl of steaming rice and chopsticks, obviously a highly stylized exclamation point, punctuating the whole affair. The smell of cooking meat drifted out from the open door and a giggling group of children exited as Ino and Asuma approached.

 

“Hello O-chan,” the Yamanaka greeted the girl of the group, “did Morida-san give you work?”

 

“Yes neechan,” the girl, a redhaired Yamanaka if he had to guess, said, “we delivered his vegetables from Ochiai-san.”

 

“Good,” Ino said, “O-chan, this is Sarutobi Asuma, Asuma-san, this is my cousin Yamanaka Okimi and her friends Tabata Takeshi and Keisō.” Asuma barely took note of the lack of surname on the second boy, a sandy haired little thing with wide green eyes. Instead he waved to them, offering a lopsided smile.

 

“Nice to meet you,” he said, “thanks for the tour Ino-san, I'll get out of your hair.”

 

Ino smiled at him, before stopping him with one hand on his arm, “no need – come in, let sensei treat you. You might know him, Gekkō Hayate?”

 

Asuma laughed, “actually, I was on his big sister's genin team, but I don't know him too well other than keeping her company during a few babysitting ventures.” _Unpaid_ babysitting ventures, which had been an important chaffing point at the time. “I really don't want to step on toes, and I owe Konohamaru a few years of lunches and suppers, besides.”

 

Maybe he should stop by, say a proper hello to Nagisa – kami knew he'd all but avoided her when he came home for the funeral.

 

“If you're sure,” Ino said, apparently unconvinced.

 

“I am,” he said, “have fun.”

 

“I'll try, though the kami know Shikamaru will try and bring the party down,” she grinned as she spoke, waving him off before flouncing into the restaurant. Nice girl, he thought, reminded him of a younger Nagisa, actually.

 

Scratch that, his sister-in-law had the tendency to test his reflex with live kunai when she was younger. Crazy lady, really. He knew exactly where Konohamaru got it.

 

* * *

 

 

The home Konohamaru and Nagisa lived in was part of the larger Sarutobi estate, but was _not_ the main house. Instead it was a smaller abode settled along the road that lead to the old artisan district, which was now mostly training grounds. The Sarutobi clan had never been large, not even by Konoha standards – less than half the size of the Hyūga – but they were important enough. Over the years, parts of the district had been sold off as the clan married out and died off, leaving only a few buildings to care for.

 

Nagisa greeted him outside one of those buildings, from where she was gardening, hands and knees covered in dirt. She looked much the same as always, dark hair pulled into in a half-hearted bun at her neck, dark blue eyes wide with delight. “Asuma!” she cried, surging to her feet and scooping him into a hug. She was a tall woman, always had been, coming up so her head was level with his eyes. Asuma hugged her back, grinning at her when she pulled away. “Took you damn long enough to visit, brat.”

 

“Ah, forgive me ane, I got lost on the road of unnecessary guilt.”

 

She laughed, as bright as he remembered, “oh I know how that one goes,” she said, “mostly in circles. Come inside – we're across the road – I'll start supper and if Ko-kun is late we can taunt him with pie.”

 

“Ko-kun?” he asked, following her in and dutifully toeing off his shoes. She gave him a wicked grin.

 

“Mother's prerogative – he'll try and fail miserably to get you with a kunai if you try it.”

 

“Doesn't have his mother's aim, I take it?” Asuma asked and Nagisa laughed again.

 

“You know it – now grab a knife, we're making stew.”

 

* * *

 

 

The pattern of life in Konoha reasserted itself with surprising ease despite fourteen years away. It was certainly different from life at the palace – less structured, a bit busier and much louder. After a week Asuma had his favourite spots picked out, a small tea room called Hanrin which survived the kyūbi attack and the infamous bar the Horses Mouth. By dint of peer pressure there was Ichiraku Ramen and lastly a small shrine he could rely on to be empty save for the tiny priestess who attended it.

 

Of course, old friends crawling out of the woodwork certainly didn't hurt. Kakashi was, to his surprise, the first to corner him a day and a half after his return, showing up on Asuma's windowsill, book in hand, just after his afternoon shift. Raidō and Genma showed up together – surprise surprise – with food and beer in hand the next day. Kiyoshi, Kurenai and Aoba all dragged him out for a round at the Goat a week into his return, and the rest appeared at will with everything from food to sparring demands.

 

All in all it was more like he'd been gone on some sort of vacation than anything.

 

There were changes – Shikaku hadn't been jōnin commander when Asuma left to do his soul searching and Morino had been a punk chūnin with a reputation last time Asuma saw him, but not enough that he felt like a fish out of water. Even the changes to the village weren't enough to unsettle him. Maybe it was the way Ino seemed to have adopted him, or the way Konohamaru was always around. Between them, old friends and wall duty he just didn't have _time_ to feel out of place.

 

Of course, the knowledge that his time to make a choice regarding the Nijū Shōtai weighed down on him. There was no reason to say no – Asuma was _good_ at team work and good at leading and good at not dying. All things the Nijū Shōtai were looking for. It wasn't like he really liked wall duty either – sure he'd made friends with the newest batch of chūnin – eager to please preteens that all seemed to think he was cool or something – but something held him back.

 

Maybe it was that churlish part of him that had spent three years dicking around before he'd ended up sprawled at Kazuma and Chiriku's feet and offered a job; maybe it was a latent self preservation instinct that had been sleeping for the last thirty one years. Whatever the reason, it was pervasive.

 

And probably pointless, if he was taking the Hokage's grim humour into account.

 

Half asleep and a day left to make his choice, Asuma's mind chased itself in circles of _should I, shouldn't I_. Like a really odd variation on _he loves me not._ His sleepy ruminations were interrupted, however, by someone knocking at his door. Loudly. Practically falling off his futon he shuffled toward the door – completely ready to dispense pain as needed – but was stopped in his tracks when he opened it.

 

“Naruto?” he asked, scrubbing a hand over his face, “when'd you get back?”

 

“Yesterday afternoon,” the blond said, bouncing slightly, “I didn't come see you 'cause I needed to see baachan and Shizune-nee and then I had to catch up with Kakashi-sensei and Sakura-chan. Then I ran into Shino and Kiba had to prove to Kiba I am totally a better ninja than him even if I _am_ still a genin, than I saw Shikamaru who didn't want to talk, which made me think I should go see Chōji who of course was with Ino making poisons which stunk so I didn't hang around. But seeing Ino made me think I should go see Hinata – and she was with Neji and we had a rematch and it was totally a tie no matter what Lee says, and then I went to super with Konohamaru and his team and then it was too late to stop by.”

 

Asuma took the deluge of information in stride, gently pushing Naruto inside. “So is there anyone you _didn't_ see – other than myself?”

 

Naruto actually seemed ready to list all the people he'd yet to bless with his presence, but Asuma was a wise enough man to curtail any more head-spinning chatter. “Wait – never mind I'd be crushed to know how low I am on the list,” he said, “how about super?”

 

At this rate he was going to go broke – he hadn't eaten in since he got back. Or alone, for that matter, save a single lunch yesterday.

 

“Ano as...I was going to meet up with everyone at Atsuihachi,” he seemed for a moment regretful, before his face cleared, “but you could come! Yeah – let's go!”

 

Asuma had gotten three invites to Atsuihachi including this one; one from Ino and one from Kiyoshi. So far he'd said no, he'd had a date with the dentist that kept him from going with Kiyoshi, but now there wasn't a real reason other than not wanting to take up space. “I wouldn't want to intrude,” he said slowly. Naruto waved him off.

 

“Kakashi-sensei and Hayate-sensei and Kurenai-sensei will all be there,” he said, “you know them, right?”

 

“Pretty well,” Asuma said. Naruto looked to him like someone for whom that ended the conversation so he scratched his beard and said, “let me take a short shower and we'll head down – it's now, right?”

 

“Twenty minutes,” Naruto said, “Kakashi-sensei probably won't be there for at least another hour.”

 

Asuma shook his head at that, telling Naruto to make himself comfortable and handing him the TV remote before grabbing a change of clothes and ducking into the bathroom. He remembered when Kakashi had always been _early_ to everything, compulsively so. It wasn't really his story to tell though, and Kakashi was a big boy. He could deal with the minor fall out of his own bad habits.

 

* * *

 

 

The inside of Atsuihachi looked as one would expect from the outside. It was run mostly by perky civilian girls and a handful of young men who looked, frankly, envious over the physiques of their current clientele. Either that or they were on the prowl, which was probably valid, considering their options. The poor guys didn't have much of a chance, dressed in lemon yellow shirts and barbeque stained aprons, but then again there _wa_ _s_ an Akimichi at the table. Barbeque stains were practically foreplay.

 

Speaking of which – tables not foreplay – if there was a rule about pushing tables together either the group had not got the memo or they had, and had promptly decided to ignore it. The waitstaff were making an excellent showing of not caring though, and the hostess happily grabbed two more menus while the Inuzuka from the gate stood and grabbed two more chairs.

 

“Welcome home, Naruto,” a girl with twin buns said. She was not immediately recognizable to Asuma, and the fact she was seated between to Gai Jr. and Gai himself didn't give him any clues. Across from her sat two Hyūgas. “How was training?”

 

“Heya Tenten,” he said, taking the seat next to Sakura, “hot mostly, but I managed to get my fūton working better. I didn't think you were back from your mission yet.” Tenten grinned, launching into an apparently exciting story, if her slight bounce was anything to go by.

 

Not overly interested, Asuma ended up on the same side of the table as Gai and his mini-clone, next to a rather dour Aburame and across from Kurenai. Ignoring Naruto's questions and the occasional correction happening the table over, he offered the female jōnin a grin.

 

“I think this is the closest to a date I ever got with you,” he teased, and Kurenai laughed, sipping her water.

 

“Certainly a step up from being told to kiss goats,” she said, “have you met Kiba-kun or Shino-kun?”

 

“Ah, Kiba-kun welcomed me to the village, but I haven't met Shino-kun yet,” he managed to offer the Aburame his hand, “nice to meet you, kid.”

 

“You say this now – but it will not last. Why? Social niceties only demand it happen once.”

 

Asuma almost bit his tongue in half, trying not to laugh in the kid's face while Kurenai made an exasperated noise and Kiba laughed. The female Hyūga on Kurenai's other side turned to them, frowning slightly. “Shino-kun,” she said softly, but didn't add anything.

 

“If you don't want to shake hands just say, kid,” he said, and barely kept back a grin when the Aburame sullenly complied with the 'social nicety'. Asuma did have to rapidly pick up his menu to hide that self same grin all the same, catching Kurenai's eyes over the top.

 

' _Be nice,'_ she mouthed at him. He grinned wider and flashed her a subtle thumbs up that earned him a flatly disinterested one-over from the male Hyūga. He resisted the urge to wave, setting the menu down instead.

 

“Sarutobi Asuma – I don't think we've met.”

 

“Hyūga Neji,” the boy said in tones so measured you could build with them. “Pleasure.”

 

“Wow Neji,” a new but familiar voice said from the door way, “trying for world's most personable ice cube?” As Ino teased the long haired man she pulled two different ones behind her, the rest of her team. Hayate offered Asuma a nod, sliding into the chair at the very end of the collection of tables.

 

“Do you think I stand a chance?” was the smooth reply from Neji.

 

“Of course,” Ino said, nodding sagely. Across from her the Nara turned to look at the other man.

 

“And best coiffed,” he said, voice dry. Hyūga offered him what could only be called a grin if you didn't think grins required faces to move. It was very odd.

 

“You mean girliest hair,” Inuzuka said, and all of the Hyūga's good mood vanished.

 

“Your witty rejoinders never fail to fall flat,” he said, “one would think, after all this time, you'd find a new hobby.”

 

“Listen -”

 

Whatever fight was about to brew was cut short by the waitress appearing – beckoned by Kurenai – megawatt smile in place as if she could not sense the danger in an Inuzuka and a Hyūga going at it. Brave girl.

 

“Welcome to Atsuihachi – you are ready to place your orders?”

 

Shikamaru seemed to be the sort of details man as his father – the sort who could take a hint and was more than happy to end a fight before it started.

 

“A mixed plate of ikada and enoki maki with tare, and some water please.” The others around him rapidly started running fingers and eyes down their menus as Hayate took up the slack.

 

Asuma turned his gaze to Kurenai, “nice save,” he said. She shrugged.

 

“They're destined for enmity,” she said, “we just try and work around it.”

 

“Sounds familiar,” Asuma said and she rolled her eyes.

 

“I never pitched you through a ryoken wall and somehow managed to make it seem like your fault,” she said. “Though looking back there were times you certainly could have used the hit to your ego.”

 

“Ouch,” Asuma said, before turning to the waitress and offering her a practised grin. “Atsuage tōfuand momo with tare sauce, and shocho, please.” The waitress jotted down his order in a few brief strokes, turning her grin onto Kurenai, and Asuma relaxed into the murmurs and relatively good company.

 

He just really hoped he got a mission soon or that someone picked up his bill – he was going to go broke.

 

* * *

 

 

Kurenai accompanied Asuma out of the restaurant, bidding good night to her team and their shared friends. The sun was down already, though the streets were hardly empty. A few people had left before them, Nara, Gai and the two Hyūgas being chief among them. It had been a nice get together, loud though, and it reminded Asuma of when he was their age, fresh out of the war and glad to be alive with all limbs accounted for.

 

“Good bunch of kids,” he told Kurenai as they lost sight of the restaurant, “you're team seems close.”

 

“Well, not as close knit as Gai's or Hayate's, but they're good friends,” she said, “kind of like you with your old genin team.”

 

Asuma snorted at that – they'd be friends in only the loosest sense. Mostly because he'd been an idiot at that age. “Could be worse,” he assured her. Silence fell between them in that moment, punctuated by passing people and the occasional cricket.

 

“Look Asuma,” she said slowly, “I know before you left we...were in the middle of...something...” she trailed off. “Oh this is hard.”

 

“Kurenai – it's been thirteen years,” he said, smiling gently, “I wasn't exactly playing monk while I was away.”

 

“I know I just wanted to make sure there wasn't,” she waved vaguely. “I mean, after you left...we didn't exactly part on good terms and I still...for a while I hoped you'd return...”

 

“And I didn't,” Asuma finished. She nodded, her shoulders relaxed, her eyes downcast.

 

“Silly, isn't it?” she said after a moment, “ninja know better than to assume that first crush will last long.”

 

Asuma gave a short bark of laughter, shrugging it off. “Not so silly, I am a catch,” she smacked his shoulder, hard, but did finally smile properly. “So, seeing as you haven't spent all this time pining for me-” another hit, this one harder, “ow not nice – have you found anyone else?” She shrugged, flicking her hair a little.

 

“Well, myself and someone...” she said, trailing off, “we've been flirting. Nothing much. Romance is so hard when I'm off running missions and he's usually stuck here, not to mention Kiba seems to think I'm too good for every man in the village.”

 

“Smart kid, other than trying to pick fights in restaurants.” He wondered a little at the story behind that, being the usual Hyūga brand snob aside, Neji did not seem all that objectionable. Especially compared to some of his family.

 

“Too similar in some ways, too different in others, is his and Neji's problem,” she said. “It would probably simmer down if Neji just gave Kiba the proper fight he's looking for – but Neji has no interest in Kiba at all.”

 

“That could get messy,” Asuma mused, Kurenai did not seem overly worried. Or willing to share the basis of the animosity. His apartment came into view, white washed and very proper looking even in the night. Kurenai nudged him.

 

“You've got company,” she said, and he squinted into the darkness at the two figures on the doorstep. Nara and Hyūga – not the most common match up considering how little Shikaku and Hiashi liked one another. Nara was seated on the stoop, lounging, while the Hyūga was as stiff backed as his uncle, arms crossed.

 

Approaching, it was obvious both had clocked Kurenai and Asuma's presence, and had not cared. As they got within hearing range of the relatively quiet conversation, it also became obvious they were arguing over something.

 

“-r thunder,” Nara drawled.

 

“Hardly. Do not use me as an excuse for your childishness, Nara.”

 

“Childish? Tch. Try not a total idiot, Neji.” Asuma raised an eyebrow at Kurenai – _what's this about?_ – and got a – _I only think I know_ – gesture in return.

 

“No one would dare accuse you of that, however your obstinacy is-”

 

“Hold it Pot. You're lecturing me on being stubborn? What, did Ino put you up to this?”

 

“Do not try and derail me, Shikamaru.”

 

“Yeah, I guess a move out of your handbook might be too obvious.”

 

Asuma actually saw Neji's jaw clench as the distance closed. “And do not change the subject.”

 

Shikamaru snorted in clear derision. “Change it to what? The subject you've made abundantly clear is not up for discussion? Wouldn't dream of it.”

 

Neji looked very, very close to introducing the other boy to the gentle fist.

 

“Hostile,” Asuma muttered to Kurenai who looked, frankly, baffled. “They friends?”

 

“No clue,” she said softly. “Hayate seemed to think so.” Hayate must have been drunk off his ass, if the way these two were arguing was anything to go off of. “Good evening once again, boys,” she said louder, smiling as if to will away the anger between them. It did not work.

 

“Kurenai-san,” was all the Hyūga said, turning to the two of them, “Sarutobi-sama.”

 

“Asuma, please,” the bearded man said, “should I take another lap around the block, while you two chat?”

 

“We're done,” the Nara said, standing. Neji gave him a flat look. “Oh sorry – do we only operate on your terms, now?” Getting a disgusted sound in return the Hyūga gave Asuma a short parting nod, and left with his shoulders tense and head held high. The Nara gave a small sigh, rubbing his nose before shooting Kurenai an inquisitive glance. “Should _I_ come back later?”

 

Kurenai flushed, “ah – no no. I need to drop by Intel, actually. Have a good night, both of you.” Nara just grunted, nodding as she passed by on the way to her little cabin, the one she inherited from her father all those years ago.

 

“Need something, kid?” Asuma asked, leaning against the bannister of the stoop. He got an aggravated sigh in return, and a mission scroll handed over to him.

 

“See ya in the morning, Sarutobi-san,” he said, and slunk off before Asuma could say a word, melting into the shadows cast by the moon.

 

_Mission rank: B_

 

_Overview: 5 missing villagers from Idoichi, North-East Fire Country. Date of first disappearance [sic. two weeks past] one Ichimura Momaru. Next two disappearances found [sic. two days past] mutilated and dead._

 

_Objectives: find and confirm status of Ichimura Momaru, Watari Nomi and Senou Akira. Detain and interrogate those responsible._

 

Asuma browsed the rest, noting the ages of the missing and dead with detached sadness for the wasted youth. It seemed a bit odd, considering how many of his even younger friends had died in the war, but standards for civilians were more lax. Snapping the scroll shut he strode into his apartment building, already falling back into old, well worn patterns.

 


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny bit of blood and implied questionable medical aid in this chapter. Sorry.

Despite having seen him several times, it was not until Asuma saw Nara Shikamaru yawning and scowling as he walked toward the village gate, and more importantly dressed in uniform, that Asuma realized he was looking at a slimmed down version of Nara Shikaku. Everything from the hair to the walk was his father's. Their faces differed a little and their voices weren't the same – but other than that they could have been twins, had one been aged up or the other down. Not exactly a black mark against him, Shikaku was widely agreed to be one of the most attractive Nara-specimens. Here was to hoping Shikamaru, who likely shared that mantel alongside everything else, was less prone to attempted murder in the early morning.

 

“Ohayo,” he said as the teen got within ear shot, earning a chuckle from the girl on guard duty and a glare from the Nara.

 

“No such thing,” he said grimly, nodding to the girl. “You ready to leave now?”

 

“Just waiting on you,” Asuma said, hefting his rather light pack onto his back off the ground. “It's fine though – Karamorita-san here kept me company very well.” He ignored the way the younger woman flushed, not wanting to embarrass her.

 

“Good for her,” was the muttered response before Shikamaru dashed a hand across his eyed, “sorry Eho,” he told the black haired girl, “say hello to Etsu, once she gets home?”

 

“Sure thing,” Eho said brightly, “you and the rest of Team 10 who's left in the last day, may as well make her a card next time she's got a mission.” Shikamaru snorted, but did not argue.

 

“Girlfriend?” Asuma asked as they walked out of the village at a relatively sedate pace. They'd go faster once the Nara didn't look ready to fall asleep walking.

 

“Not even remotely,” Shikamaru said, “her big sister's just a friend of sensei's so sometimes we ended up training with her and her siblings if he had an appointment or something.” Asuma sensed no more incoming cooperation from his partner, so he settled for upping the pace a fraction. Nara followed with ease, matching stride for stride almost exactly though he did lack the height advantage. Ahead of them the road forked off in multiple directions, some looping around to the south, some straight into the forest and some skirting toward the farmlands that fed Konohagakure.

 

“You up for a proper run?” Asuma asked as they approached the forest road, “or do you need a few more minutes to wake up?”

 

The response was a flat, dark eyed stare and a pulse of chakra before Shikamaru was up the nearest tree and running between branches. Asuma chuckled, and followed, a mere foot behind the irate chūnin. This was different from running missions with the Guardian 12. Usually, a tense urgency had threaded through those missions – moving under the dark of night, silent and ready for the worst of the worst. This was no less tense – five missing, two of those brutally tortured to death and the other three likely in no better condition – but it certainly felt less dire.

 

For the next half hour or so, as the sun managed to bathe the upper branches of the forest in red-gold neither said a word, the rustle of branches and whip of wind enough for both of them. Idoichi should only take a day or two, at this pace, and Asuma was pleased to know Konoha was still producing people who could keep up. Tired or not, Nara did not seem the least bit phased by the speed and his chakra barely fluctuated despite the semi-constant use.

 

“What?” the Nara asked, not stopping but sparring Asuma a side glance. Asuma raised an eyebrow, not understanding the reason for the question. “You've been staring,” he said, “so what do you want?”

 

“Just thinking,” Asuma said, “how long have you been a chūnin, now?”

 

“Just short of five years,” Shikamaru said, “why?”

 

Asuma shrugged. “No real reason, we don't know much about each other is all.”

 

“You mean you don't know much about me,” the younger man corrected dryly, “trust me. When people heard you were coming home to stay I think I learned every lie and exaggeration about you simply by walking past the morning market.”

 

“Ouch,” Asuma said, “that assumes my accomplishments are lies, kid. That stings.”

 

Shikamaru offered him a raised eyebrow and the closest he'd seen to a smirk since last night. “Oh, so you _did_ beat Wind Country's Sandworms to extinction?”

 

Asuma opened his mouth, paused, and frowned. “Sandworms aren't extinct.”

 

“Imagine my surprise, being told otherwise,” the Nara said. “Not to mention your ten bastard children running around.”

 

Asuma laughed to hide his immense horror at the idea of even _one_ , “I hope not,” he said, “no world deserves that punishment. Where'd you hear that?”

 

“Nowhere,” the Nara said, “I just wanted to see how you'd react.”

 

Asuma considered wasting a senbon on the kid, he really did. “Anyone ever tell you you're a lot like your dad?”

 

“It comes up,” the Nara said, smirking for real this time. “I can't imagine why.”

 

Asuma laughed, shaking his head. “Look at that – I thought I imagined your sense of humour last night.” Shikamaru sent him an inquisitive look, almost slipping on a moss branch but recovering with little more than a quirked eyebrow. Impressive.

 

“What do you mean?” he asked, apparently genuinely unsure.

 

“Well at dinner you were fine, but then the next time I saw you...” he trailed off, restraining himself from asking what he really wanted.

 

“Ah,” Shikamaru rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting away, scanning the trees. “Yeah, that.”

 

“Seemed important,” Asuma said, aware he was fishing rather blatantly. Shikamaru was aware, too, shooting him a look that was half way between amusement and annoyance that said _are you_ sure _you're an infamous ninja?_

 

Finally he sighed, looking away. “Nothing important or even that serious just...troublesome.”

 

“I see,” Asuma said, not sure how to decipher that. Lots of things were troublesome, but last night had seemed downright venomous. The barbs they'd traded had been crafted to stick, as far as Asuma could tell. “You just seemed to get along fine, before that.” Shikamaru went positively stiff, shoulder's a straight line of tension. Oh yeah, hit that nerve dead on. No senbon needed after all.

 

“I just overreacted,” he said at last. “He wasn't really saying anything to get annoyed over. We'd had an argument earlier last week that I thought I was over.”

 

“But you weren't.”

 

“Evidently not,” was the dry reply. “How about you and Kurenai-sensei?”

 

Deflection as subtle as his fishing. “We were close when we were younger,” Asuma said, “but it's been fourteen years, things change.”

 

“Hng,” was the vague reply, “guess Kiba was right about Aoba, then.” Asuma blinked, slowing slightly. Shikamaru shot him a look over his shoulder, slowing as well. “You didn't know?”

 

“She said there was someone from Intel but...Aoba?”

 

Shikamaru shrugged, picking up the pace again, forcing Asuma to shake off his surprise. “Aoba's solid,” the chūnin said.

 

“Oh I know,” Asuma said, “I just didn't really think of it. He was so high strung when we were kids.”

 

“Times change,” Shikamaru said simply.

 

“No kidding,” Asuma said, “once upon a time my mission partner was a badass monk, now look at me.”

 

“Haha,” Shikamaru said, “you're a real comedian.” He did not sound offended though, nor really look it, if he more relaxed posture was anything to judge by. Asuma took it as a win – at the very least he hadn't been saddled with someone with no sense of humour.

  

* * *

 

 

Idoichi was, as it suggested, a small market town near one of the major roads linking various larger cities both within Fire Country, and those beyond it's borders. Roughly the size of the Hyūga clan lands, it was a very quiet little place. They arrived just short of midnight, and after a moment's discussion opted to see if the local bar was open – they had already been advised there was no inn or anything comparable to stay in. As luck had it, the bar was indeed open, likely because of the high amount of traffic that came through there on a daily route. Asuma had already made note of the caravans set up in a field nearby.

 

The streets were empty as they approached at a civilian pace, Shikamaru taking a position behind Asuma. Asuma sent him an enquiring glance, but Shikamaru just shrugged as if to say _someone's got to have someone's six._ It was also possible he was using Asuma as meatshield, in case the locals turned out not to be shinobi friendly. Asuma smiled a bit at the thought – he'd take one for the team and extort saké from him as revenge. Despite the empty streets, well street really, light could be seen spilling out from one of the larger buildings, though the sound was muted.

 

Stepping inside, the first thing Asuma noticed was the warmth. Early autumn wasn't exactly frigid, especially in Fire Country, but it was cool enough that the pack of bodies and low banked fire was like a very nice, warm blanket. The feeling died when utter silence enveloped the bar. He instinctively stepped in front of Shikamaru, turning so his shoulders filled the door.Easily shielding the chūnin from both view and any unpleasantness that might occur. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a dark line link up with the door frame's shadow, and felt grim satisfaction at the preparedness to act.

 

For a long moment no one uttered a word or even moved until a drawn looking young woman pushed off from her table and all but thew herself at their feet. “You're finally here,” she said, voice raspy as if from crying. Her eyes were red, which corroborated the assumption. “It's been a week since we sent the message I was afraid,” she stopped, voice choked off. Asuma settled a gentle hand on her shoulder, steering her toward the closest chair. “

 

"Missions can take a day or two to assign and prep for,” he said, “I'm sorry we couldn't make it sooner.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, “no it's...we weren't even sure it was going to be worthy anyone's time but -” she blinked rapidly, “two more were taken last night and we haven't found any of the others.”

 

Asuma heard Shikamaru sigh behind him and lean against the wall. Hearing someone was abducting civilians your age probably wasn't something any fairly young person liked. “Are you one of the missing's mother?” Asuma asked, leaning against the table. The woman – probably in her mid thirties or early forties, nodded.

 

“Momaru,” she said, chin wavering. “H-he's been...” she trailed off. She didn't need to say it. He'd been the first one taken. “He's such a good boy and he just...he just went for water it's only...only just behind the house and then my Momo-kun was _gone_.” She sniffled.

 

“We'll look for him,” Asuma promised, “but can you tell me if anything had happened before he went missing – anything that stands out as unusual?”

 

“Well, a three months ago he and Nomi, uh Watari Nomi that is, they had been dating see, and she broke it off. He didn't take it well so we sent him off to the Fire Temple for a while, when he came back he was calmer but...distant.” The story set off alarm bells in Asuma's head, and he didn't need anything but to hear the subtle shift behind him to know Shikamaru also didn't trust the story. “He said it was nothing...” she trailed off.

 

“It's fine, mistress,” Asuma said, standing up straight. “You've been very helpful.” Nodding, he and Shikamaru retreated from the bar, heading toward a place to set up camp. Alone.

 

“Bad break up, and then he and the girl both disappear,” Shikamaru said “that's not promising.”

 

He was right, of course, and Asuma nodded, mulling it over. “Could have just run off,” he posited, “I mean his mother calls him Momo.” Shikamaru snorted. “Though that doesn't explain the other six. Or the girl.”

 

“No it doesn't,” Shikamaru agreed. “They could be separate incidents – she didn't mention why Nomi cut ties. If her parents disapproved...” he trailed off.

 

“Then they might have decided to play pretend and run off after suspicions cooled,” Asuma concluded.

 

“Or he dragged her out into the woods and butchered her,” Shikamaru said. Asuma winced, but didn't bother telling him to be more gentle in his phrasing. No one could hear him, and Asuma recognized that face. It was the _I'm thinking of a hundred scenarios and haven't even reached have of the possibilities yet_ face. Shikaku had perfected it years ago. Shikamaru wasn't doing too shabbily either.

 

“I guess we start searching tomorrow,” Shikamaru said at last, as they reached just short of the tree line. Asuma nodded.

 

“First light we'll eat, then we'll get the ball rolling.” Shikamaru gave him a disgusted look, unsealing his supplies.

 

“I'll take first shift, then,” he said, “might as well get a _little_ bit of uninterrupted sleep.” Asuma chuckled, setting up the simple two man tent.

 

“Have fun,” he said, and slipped inside to Shikamaru's incredibly unflattering mutters.

 

* * *

  

Morning went more smoothly than Asuma had expected, Shikamaru dragging himself from the tent before Asuma had to wake him. The kid had been fast asleep in the minute or so it took Asuma to wake up and leave the tent for his own guard shift, which had left Asuma chuckling into the night as he poked the fire aimlessly. Now, he was chuckling again as Shikamaru scowled into his coffee, drinking it and grimacing.

 

“Did you make this with dirt?” he asked, peering up at Asuma, brow still drawn down. Asuma laughed, even as he pulled out their limited oatmeal. Once they were in the forest and, probably, more danger, they would switch to ration bars to avoid being too obvious. Fire tended to make smoke, which was usually a bad sign and an easy signal.

 

“No,” he said, “but it's roughly on par with my general cooking skills.” He had burnt the beans a little. Shikamaru gave him a horrified look and Asuma blinked when he all but lunged, grabbing the oatmeal from Asuma with a suspicious glare.

 

“Don't even try,” he said, moving around Asuma's back with the pot he'd made the coffee in. One pot fits all was more or less Asuma's approach to everything. “You burnt the coffee.” Busted.

 

“I did not,” Asuma said and grinned at the annoyed _tch_ that came from the chūnin.

 

“Troublesome old man. Can't even make coffee,” Shikamaru grumbled as he came back to his original spot, placing the half full pot over the fire. The half light of the morning cut some very flattering shadows across his features, and even managed to soften his frown. Asuma shook his head at the thought.

 

“I'm not _old_ ,” Asuma said, “and I can too make coffee when I don't have to roast and grind the beans myself. Shikamaru shook his head, obviously disgusted though a smile played at his lips. Asuma grinned – he didn't think he'd seen anything other than a smirk from him. Scowls were most common, however. The almost smile was cute. “Well could you?”

 

“Probably. Cooking's not that hard, really, if you have to do it.” As he spoke he poured their packets of oatmeal into the water, adding a packet of salt. He caught the look on Asuma's face which was dubious at best. “Oatmeal's bland enough without adding absolutely nothing – and do you have honey or milk packed?”

 

“Nope.” Asuma shook his head, watching the pot get periodically stirred. “Pack little, move lightly. Where did you learn to cook – surely not your dad.”

 

“Dad can cook, mostly miso and anything you throw on a grill, but he can cook,” Shikamaru took a sip of his coffee, “but mom insisted I start learning once I made genin. She said it was an important part of pulling your weight on our team.”

 

“Your team specifically?”

 

“Chōji,” Shikamaru said, smiling a little fondly at the mere mention of the chūnin who was very likely his best friend. “Akimichis eat a lot and it wouldn't be fair to make him and Ino do all the work. According to mom, anyway. Besides,” he threw Asuma a smirk, gesturing for Asuma to grab eating supplies. “If I make dinner I don't have to do the dishes which are much more troublesome.”

 

“The lesser of two evils, I see,” Asuma waved a bowl at the chūnin, “you want just a spoon or do you want to have to clean the bowls.” Asuma was not terribly shocked when Shikamaru wrinkled his nose and grabbed the spoon, taking the pot off the fire. Settling next to Asuma he set the pot down on a barren patch of grass and dug in. After a second of trying to gauge how bad the chūnin thought his own concoction to be, Asuma joined him. “This is still bland as anything,” Asuma said, taking another bite. Shikamaru shrugged.

 

“At least it's not burnt.” Apparently he was not going to let that go. “And just think of how much better the ration bars will taste now,” he said. Asuma shook his head with a laugh, and took another bite.

 

* * *

  

The forest outside Idoichi was very old and quite infamous. It separated Fire Country from the tiny village which housed Yumegakure, and as such held the same, ancient feeling. It tended to unnerve most people, even shinobi, and it was all too easy to end up in Yumegakure's territory, or worse, River country's. Luckily, Yumegakure was relatively understanding and usually happy to turn the wayward around without any stabbing or anything of the sort. River country could be more liberal with the pointy deterrents.

 

Still, Asuma and Shikamaru were on high guard, following tracing a grid pattern through old trees and thick, undisturbed detritus. Two person grid patterns were less than optimal, but it was what they had to work with and it took them far enough into the forest that eventually Asuma was forced to scale a tree until he was above the tree tops, just to check the time. Dropping down to relatively thick branch he found Shikamaru waiting in a branch across from him.

 

“About o-sixteen hundred,” Asuma said softly, and Shikamaru frowned, leaning against the tree trunk.

 

“Almost twelve hours of this and we've got one trail which might maybe be left by a person.” Asuma blinked.

 

“We do?”

 

“Just spotted one while you were sunbathing,” the boy said, “too broad to be a deer track and not very well used, but there are wolves around.” He shrugged, “it's our best clue.”

 

Best as in only, Asuma thought. “Stick to trees and pursue it,” he said after a moment. “Hopefully if it pans out we can get the drop on our bad guy.” Shikamaru gave him a slow blink which said very clearly _I cannot believe you just said that_ before they started of as quietly and quickly as possible, Shikamaru in the lead.

 

It didn't take long for either to think they'd hit the jackpot. The trail widened considerably in a few places, as if someone had been forced to lay down there, and a few areas were kicked up as if someone had dragged their heels. From this high up they couldn't discern any blood, but they _could_ hear when the forest life, which hadn't seemed to mind them enough to go completely quiet, was suddenly silent.

 

Not long after that, they heard distinctly more human sounds from as far as fift feet away, and a wobbling chakra signature tingle along Asuma's senses. A sensor type would have picked them up quicker, and a Hyūga would have found them much sooner, but it was good enough and he and Shikamaru came to a stop close to the source.

 

The human sounds were beyond off putting, it was the sound of someone in a whole lot of pain, and Asuma frowned, remembering the list of injuries on the two who had been found. Eyeing Shikamaru, who was effectively a blank slate despite the sounds of pain coming from only a few feet away Asuma gestured _proceed with extreme caution_ and crept toward the sound.

 

The scene they found was nothing less than horrific. A boy was strapped to a makeshift, bleeding heavily and whimpering in pain. Nothing loud, just small, strangled and ominously wet sounds. Three of the missing – the two latest and the girl they knew was Nomi – were held in an equally makeshift cage, hands and legs bound. Their last missing person stood in the midst of the bloody carnage, humming and sharpening a wicked looking combat kama.

 

“Found Momo-kun,” Asuma said, voice quieter than the rustle of leaves. Shikamaru nodded, pulling out three sendon and sending Asuma a questioning look. In return, he pulled out two kunai. With a flick of his wrist Shikamaru's senbon flew, tightly clumped, and landed in a cluster at the base of his neck. Momaru fell without so much as a whimper.

 

Without a sound the boy toppled over, Fumie, the other girl in the cage, shrieking in surprise. Asuma dropped to the ground just behind Shikamaru, holding up his hands to show they were empty. Not that it meant anything, but civilians found it reassuring. The girl subsided with a whimper, and after a moment of considering the cage, Asuma took one end and Shikamaru the other, and they yanked it out of the ground, throwing it into the underbrush without so much as grunt.

 

“K-Konoha?” Nomi said, voice shaky as Asuma cut the ropes binding her.

 

“Got it in one,” he said gently, helping her stand. She wobbled for a moment, grabbing his arm before she managed to steady herself. Shikamaru pulled the other two to their feet, offering the still crying Fumie a small handkerchief. “I'm Sarutobi Asuma, that's Nara Shikamaru.”

 

“Thank you,” she said, bottom lip shaking ever so slightly. “Momaru he...” she blinked rapidly, “he was insane, Sarutobi-san he kept muttering about storms and protection and about how we'd all pay,” she had to stop, her words failing her. “He kept _hurting_ people and I asked him not to and he kept laughing...” she look away. Asuma patted her shoulder.

 

“We're going to take you home,” he said, “don't worry about Momaru anymore.” Checking the other two briefly over for wounds he asked, “can you all walk?”

 

“Yes,” the boy, Hirata, spoke for the first time. “But...but someone's got to help Akira,” he looked over toward the alter, looking away quickly, “he's my best friend...someone's got...to help him.” Asuma knew what he meant. One look at Akira said there was no help for him, not with his stomach and chest like _that_.

 

“Shikamaru's going to start off with you guys,” he said, “I'll help Akira-san.” Hirata nodded, and Asuma pretended he didn't see what he started to silently cry. Nomi, who had rallied with very impressive skill, gently took him and Fumie both by the arm, leading them toward the small trail they'd no doubt been dragged through in the first place. Shikamaru followed, conjuring a simple clone, likely to take the back and alert him to any trouble.

 

Asuma watched them go before pulling out his knife, heading up to the alter. There was only one step and it creaked, and he winced as he looked down at the boy. He looked back with pain dulled eyes and on impulse Asuma rested a gentle hand on his feverish brow. “It's over kid,” he said, “no more pain, kay?”

 

Akira just closed his eyes, moving his lips in a voiceless _thank you_.

 

* * *

 

 

They were quite literally only a minute from the clearing when it happened, an actual _explosion_ of chakra Shikamaru. Freezing, he startled those following him, and his clone only barely managed not to stumble into Hirata and dissipate himself.

 

“Nara-san?” Fumie, who was done crying and was sounding not better, but very resolved, asked.

 

Dithering a moment he managed to locate Asuma's chakra as the other one evened out. He _seemed_ fine, for now, and he was an excellent shinobi. He'd lied, when he said he'd heard everything from fishwife gossip. Shikamaru had looked it up himself, checking anything sent back about the Guardian 12 that was at his clearance level, and the occasional scroll which wasn't. Asuma had over seven hundred missions to his name, twenty of which were S-rank.

 

“Nara-san?” she repeated and he shook himself off.

 

“Sorry, keep going.” They traded glances, and the clone made a sound that was distinctly _you sure_? In nature but he brushed them all off. Moving at this pace was a drag, especially with something happening to his mission partner a very manageable distance behind him, but he'd been entrusted with three very vulnerable lives and he couldn't abandon that task. “How well do you know these woods?” he asked to no one in particular.

 

“Pretty well,” Fumie said, “my dad's one of the hunters in the area. He started taking me with him when I was thirteen.” Shikamaru nodded, absently noting how old that seemed to be starting training. Life in a shinobi village was skewed toward _get things done early or you'll probably die before you can do them at all_. They were a chipper group.

 

“Do you know where we are?”

 

“I think we're about a mile west of the river,” she said, “if we find that it'll be easier to get home. Shorter and less...we didn't come that way.”

 

“River it is,” Shikamaru said, understanding exactly what she meant. The three gave him relieved looks, and with a brief scan he lead them off to the left, away from the fight going on behind him and forcing himself to ignore the very bad feeling he was getting.

 

* * *

  

Asuma ducked Momaru's blade as it swung at him. For a kid who'd never been at a training area longer than a week, he wasn't bad. Not Asuma's level, but not bad. He was also crazy as fuck, given the ranting about _clouds_. Actually – that was pretty informative since clouds was something that interested Konoha a whole lot

 

What did not make sense was the random talk of heathens and retribution and protection from gods. That and the fact the kid was walking. Asuma had been in the middle of double checking that Momo-kun was actually dead when, despite all the odds, he'd stood with an explosion of chakra which sent Asuma stumbling. Now, Asuma was trying to figure out a way to catch the kid and get information. If he knew anything about Akatsuki now was the time to find out. Sadly, not killing him was both less and less appealing, and not as easy as it sounded.

 

Dodging a fairly well aimed kama, Asuma retreated slightly, thinking. This would be easier with Shikamaru here, the shadow pin or anything shadow pin related would be very, very helpful.

 

“They're coming, you know,” Momaru said, eyes shining with what could only be called fantacism. “They're gonna get you and those imposters on the hill and all the others like you. But not us. Blood protects and I'll...I'll protect us but not _you._ ”

 

“Shinobi?” Asuma asked, because the longer the kid ranted, the more time Asuma had to think.

 

“Unbelievers,” the boy muttered darkly, “every one of you. I heard it from gods themselves I know.”

 

Crazier than a bag of hammers, Asuma said but did not think. Instead he said, “gods?”

 

“Harbingers,” the boy said, “they're bringing a storm of red and _I'm_ not gonna be the one struck down. Not me or my mom or Nomi,” Asuma had every intention, really, of asking more, because Momaru was both crazy and informative, when he caught Shikamaru from the corner of his eye. Sadly, so did Momaru, and in what turned out to be a blindly stupid idea, Asuma did what was natural.

 

He put himself between the chūnin and the rapidly advancing, and very _sharp_ kama.

 

* * *

  

As per his, quote unquote, genius IQ, Shikamaru was not, in fact, the sort of shinobi who walked right into a fight without being prepared. In fact as per his status as a Nara he rarely walked into _any_ fights unless very, very necessary. Skulking in the dark was his expertise and the best place for him as a shadow user and a strategist. Never hurt to have a tree to duck behind, either.

 

That was why he'd walked up the river itself after Hirata had told him to go back, and that they could manage to get back, pointing out if he helped get rid of whoever Asuma was fighting, they wouldn't get stuck trying to outrun him. The journey had been quick, Shikamaru's worry eating at him. He hadn't ever had a mission as disastrous as the Sasuke mission, and he didn't want another like that ever.

 

He came to a stop just outside the clearing, conjuring a new clone after the other one got poked by a tree branch. “Go around,” he commanded, “you'll find the track – just distract whoever Asuma's fighting, okay, even if it's only for a minute.”

 

The clone nodded, and Shikamaru swung into the trees, darting fast toward Asuma and whoever. It took maybe four minutes to do over all, and he came to a stop just above the clearing, chakra pressed as far down as he knew how. Coming from a clan of assassins, he knew how to do it quite well. The fight going on was obviously lopsided. Asuma was holding back, baiting and fishing at intervals, and Momaru. Shikamaru frowned. His senbon had hit exactly where he planned. It was a clan technique that didn't rely on shadows, and he'd been training in it since he was five. Which okay, didn't mean he never messed it up but on an unmoving target...of course Momaru was showing much more chakra now. Maybe he'd had some sort of armour type jutsu?

 

As he ruminated on his slightly injured pride, his shadow clone darted from the trees into the wide open and Momaru swing toward it, throwing a kama with surprising skill. For a split second Shikamaru was ready to sigh in relief, happy to have given Asuma a chance to make whatever his move was, and then it all went _wrong_.

 

Asuma didn't make a sane, planned move or any of the viable moves Shikamaru had predicted. No, he _threw himself_ in front of the gods' bedamned blade, and Shikamaru froze briefly in horror as it sliced through his chest and shoulder like butter in a Konohagakure summer. The growing horror only lasted a moment, however, because the little shit _laughed_ and without thinking Shikamaru leapt from the trees, kage nui already racing ahead of him.

 

He was proud to say Momaru mustn't have known what hit him, when the first shadow lashed hard around his leg, three more joining it at the opposite arm, his torso and his neck respectively.

 

“The fuck,” Momaru said, startled out of his cackling. They were his last words.

 

Shikamaru did not care about the blood that sprayed across his face, nor the thump of a body that did not necessarily have everything properly attached. Rushing to Asuma's side he almost cried when he realized Asuma was still breathing, albeit with difficulty. He was also very barely awake, and Shikamaru blinked rapidly, refusing to let his hands shake as he cut open first his flak jacket then his shirt.

 

“If you die,” he told the rapidly fading jōnin, “I'm not going to forgive you.” Asuma blinked once, and passed out. Carefully, he cut the various clothing until it fell away without jarring the kama. From it's position it must have gone straight through Asuma's lung, and carefully he moved the other just enough to confirm it had come out from his back. Biting his lip he cursed himself for not taking more of those damn field medic courses from Genma with Ino.

 

Looking to his clone he wasn't terribly surprised to see it looked as upset as him – they tended to replicate the person who made them. “Stay – holler if the slightly thing changes. I need bamboo – thin bamboo and...” his mind drew a blank. He couldn't panic right now, not until Asuma had proper medical care.

 

“Fire,” the clone said helpfully, “things to sterilize kunai and senbon.” It was wonderful having a clone roughly as smart as yourself.

 

* * *

  

Asuma woke up more slowly than usual, and in much more pain than usual. Groaning, he tried to sit up, only for a strong but gentle hand to rest on his shoulder and very carefully ease him back. Rapidly blinking to clear out the grey fuzz that signalled he'd been in one position too long he vaguely recognized Shikamaru's chakra before everything hit him and he tried to sit up again, much more swiftly. He didn't get far, partly because of the hand on the shoulder which pulled him back rather more forcefully than before, and partly because the pain which ripped through the entirety of his chest and a good part of his torso.

 

Oh right. He'd been stabbed. Extravagantly so.

 

Gasping for breath he did notice a more dull, stretched pain in his back – probably the cuts. He tried not to panic at the pain or the fact he couldn't quite get enough air in – he was a jōnin of Konohagakure he did not panic. Still, the fuzz of oxygen loss was overtaking the almost cleared grey, and he was very shocked when a hand slipped to the back of his head, lifting it up slightly.

 

“Asuma,” Shikamaru said softly, “Asuma you need to calm down. I'm not a medic, I've done what I can but if you strain too much those wounds will reopen I really don't think I can patch your lung well enough a second time.”

 

Taking the words to heart Asuma pulled a breath through his nose, feeling the tightness in his right lung, as if it were compressed. Considering the lower part of a huge scythe had gone through it, it was actually better than the alternative. The hand on his neck was kneading slightly in a rather off pattern, and after a moment he realized it was synced with a common, calming breathing technique. Four, two, four two...over and over until Asuma finally managed to copy it in the right way. Nose, hold, release. Rinse and repeat until he actually felt somewhat less like he was going to suffocate. Still hurt in the way only a chest injury could, though.

 

Still, he'd have tried to say thanks, really, but breathing was hard enough that he wasn't too sure he wanted to try wasting the necessary respiration to speak. “Are you done trying to move?” the Nara asked, scowling heavily. Asuma nodded carefully, and the boy relaxed back a bit, scrubbing a tired hand over his face. It was a bit scratched, as if he'd taken a few branches to the face but damn if he wasn't a nice sight to wake up to.

 

“Thank the kami,” the boy muttered, “just – really don't try anymore, okay? We'll have proper medical access in a few minutes, fifteen tops, according to Bedoro-sama.” Asuma noted the use of honorific, and also the name. It niggled at he back of his mind, partly because it was familiar and partly because it was _weird._ Did it mean what it sounded like? Of course, a man with the kanji for _monkey_ in his surname only had so much room to judge.

 

Tentatively he signed the question who, exactly, Bedoro-sama was, why was he a -sama and where _were_ they.

 

“Well first, Bedoro-sama is a woman, and I think the kanji is more _muddy shore_ than muddy area,” Shikamaru said, sitting up a bit straighter. Less addled, and sadly in a growing amount of pain, Asuma noted how exhausted he looked. The term bone tired fit the bill, and Asuma could see the telltale signs of middle level chakra exhaustion. “Second she's a sama because she's terrifying and we're here without paying her, and lastly, we're on a riverboat on Kowarabegawa headed to the Fire Temple.”

 

The mention of riverboat caused the name to finally click and Asuma would have sat up if Shikamaru wasn't giving him the hardest stare Asuma had ever seen on a Nara. Instead, he signed _the drug runners?_ With the most indigence one could put into shinobi hand signing. Which wasn't very much, but enough.

 

“Highly reputable spice merchants,” Shikamaru said, digging around in a bag at his feet. Pulling out a capped, empty needle he set it carefully next to Asuma, pulling out an almost empty jar of...sedative? Damn. Shinobi almost never needed the liquid stuff, usually you used it on a friend who was dying and you couldn't help, for whatever reason. “Now don't move because this is gross enough without you accidentally jarring it.”

 

Wait – it? What the fuck was _it_? Shooting the boy a look as he poked the needle through the self sealing cap. He wanted to ask, but couldn't because the kid then asked him the stupidest thing ever.

 

“Can you move your arm above your head?”

 

 _NO_. Asuma managed. Shikamaru rolled his eyes, and with only the barest modicum of gentleness did it for him.

 

“Fucking Bodhisattva forsaken shadow creeping bastard,” Asuma yelped at the very painful stretch of bruised and broken ribs. Shikamaru didn't blink, just flicked the needle and proceeded to compound the issue by poking it into him. “Your bedside manner is _shit_ ,” Asuma gasped. Shikamaru continued to look completely unfazed. "And what exactly is this 'it'?"

 

“Nice to see you're talking again,” he said blandly, breaking the needle tip and poking it into the bottle, effectively sealing it away from doing any more damage. “Your arm can come down now.” Asuma was not impressed that his question went unanswered.

 

“No it _can't_ ,” Asuma said. Shikamaru rolled his eyes, doing it for him much more gently than the first time.

 

“You complained way less when you were sedated,” Shikamaru said, leaning back again. Asuma blinked. Shikamaru had wasted _two_ of the most expensive field-supplies he had on him? Getting stabbed -twiceish wasn't grounds for that. Sure, the fight hadn't been as easy as it should have been – they'd have to have _words_ with _Momo-kun's_ mother when the finally got around to telling her the shitty news, assuming his surviving victims didn't do it first. "And really, I advise you not to look down."

 

Asuma, who had never been good at non-combat orders, looked down. For a moment, he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing but a second or two confirmed it. There was bamboo in his ribcage. Before he could ask what, exactly, Shikamaru had been thinking, the door popped open and a young man with blueish grey hair stuck his head in. “Oh hey – your patients awake,” he waved at Asuma, “how's he doing?”

 

“Pretty well,” Shikamaru said, “turns out he's thirty years younger than I thought but I'll deal.” The boy blinked in confusion while Asuma shot him an offended look.

 

“Did you just call me a baby for not withstanding your unsuspected and unprovoked torture?” Actually that pain was diminishing quickly though his back still hurt.

 

“A smart two year old,” Shikamaru told the other teen who was shaking his head in amusement. “Something you needed?”

 

“Dock's in view,” he said, “we'll feel a bit of a jar in a minute or so, sousaba-sama said to warn you.”

 

“Thanks, Ichi,” Shikamaru said, “how long do you dock?”

 

“Twenty minutes or so, usually. Sousaba-sama said we'd stay until you managed to unload your own cargo. We don't really have much use for 'im.”

 

“How long is it to the Temple,” Shikamaru asked even as he wrapped a relatively stabilizing hand around Asuma's furthest arm. A moment later the dock and boat collided and though he moved somewhat, it didn't appear to trigger Shikamaru's _dear kami-sama do not move_ issues. Though of course, Asuma himself was not so keen on jarring certain additions.

 

“Fifteen minutes or so, depending on your legs and how much you're carrying,” he eyed Shikamaru, “not sure how long it'll take you, Zuru-san.”

 

“Not that long,” Shikamaru said, standing with a barely averted sway. Damn punk was tired. To Asuma he said, “don't even think about getting up. Or moving in general. In fact, just stick to breathing that'll be safest.”

 

“I'll send Aya-chan to keep an eye on him,” Ichi said, “she's too small to help right now anyway.”

 

“Thanks,” Shikamaru said and was out the door in a second flat.

 

“Quiet for such a fast guy,” Ichi mused, Asuma nodded.

 

“Zuru-san?” he asked, wondering if Shikamaru had lied about his name.

 

“Sousoba-sama's idea of a compliment,” the kid said with a grin. “He said his name's Izuru, but of course it's a lie. I'm not Ichi either, so we don't mind.”

 

“Trusting,” Asuma said. “What name did he give me?”

 

“Totto,” the boy said. Asuma groaned and the boy laughed, “you must be best friends, name like that,” he said before looking behind him. “Gotta go help, Aya-chan will be here in a moment.”

 

* * *

 

 

Nauma clocked the unknown chakra source a second behind Chiriku and only a beat behind the other two working the gardens. It wasn't terribly strong, but it was very precisely controlled, someone who was either very tired or had poor stamina or really, really good chakra suppression.

 

“Messenger, or trouble?” the young woman next to him asked.

 

“Hope for the best, prepare for the worst,” Chiriku said calmly just as a tree at the tree line right next to the main road rustled and a black clad figure jumped from the tree. For a moment he didn't move, and neither did they, until he moved just enough for the light to bounce off something metal on his arm and he started fairly slowly toward them. Feeling another fluctuation in the man's chakra Nauma abandoned good sense and walked toward him. Chiriku didn't move to stop him, but Risako called out to him in wordless warning. He held a hand up to say it was all right as he got close enough to see the boy, not at all a man, was looking a little worse for wear. More importantly, he spotted the familiar leaf-swirled hitai-ate.

 

“I've never lived in Konoha,” he said neutrally, “but I'm pretty sure that's supposed to go on your head.” The kid didn't so much as crack a smile, still coming forward in a way that could only be described as suspicious. It reminded him of a skittish animal. Still, he wasn't making any move to attack, and Chiriku seemed to decide he wasn't a threat, coming up next to Nauma. Risako came up to his left, frowning.

 

“Do you need a medic?” she asked, peering at him. He nodded a little vaguely – yeah that was a case of medium chakra exhaustion heading toward severe at a fast speed.

 

“Not me,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face, “my partner decided the best way to stop a bladed weapon was with his chest.” He looked pretty shaken up and a little guilty despite trying to cover it, probably more due to exhaustion than lack of control.

 

“Where is he?” Chiriku asked, “near by?”

 

“Docks,” the boy said, apparently managing one last rally, standing taller and blinking away his tiredness. “I managed to catch a riverboat – they've agreed not to run off with him and he's not quite annoying enough for them to slit his throat while I'm not there, but I figure they'd like to leave on schedule.”

 

“Can he walk?” Chiriku asked. The boy gave him a look that only teenagers could manage.

 

“Yes. That's why I'm here all alone.”

 

“Your mother teach you to mouth off like that?” Risako asked, the kid arched an eyebrow.

 

“No, I learned it from people who ask idiot questions.” Nauma fought not to laugh. The kid shook his head, “sorry I just – can you guys help?” the sudden meekness went a long way to not being annoyed with the kid.

 

“Of course,” Chiriku said, “we'll arrange a stretcher and go get him. Nauma you can get...” he trailed off, looking at the kid. The kid looked back, obviously reluctant to provide a name.

 

“Nara Shikamaru,” he said finally.

 

“Konoha bred and born,” Chiriku said, “I knew a boy like that,” Asuma no doubt, “I liked him quite a lot. Especially when he outgrew his temper. Anyway, Nara-san, Nauma will get you settled while we get your partner.”

 

Shikamaru immediately, and not so much to Nauma's surprise, balked. “No,” he said, “no way.” His feet shifted and he crossed his arms, managing to look the sixteen or seventeen he obviously was. Not that it mattered, shinobi grew up fast and this kid had possibly been doing some sort of shinobi work since he was as young as ten.

 

“Nara-san,” Risako said, medic mode overtaking her natural suspicion, “I'm a fully trained medic, I'll keep your partner safe.”

 

Shikamaru didn't budge an inch, jaw tightening. “I don't care if you're Hokage-sama herself,” he said, “I'm _not_ letting anyone near my partner without me.” Nauma could sense a lost cause when he saw one, and this particular hang up wasn't unknown to him. Did Konoha have some sort of hand book _the best flaws for annoying your non-Konoha friends_?

 

“It's fine, I'll come along and -” he spotted Koji and Takeshi out of the corner of his eye, “and Takeshi and Koji will make sure not to drop your partner.” And if you faint, he thought, _I_ promise not to drop _you_.

 

Risako shook her head, obviously disapproving as a medic. The kid was dead tired, but not dead and not incapable of movement. Apparently that was the litmus test for _do I leave person X behind?_ or not. “Let's go then,” she said, easily running up the very same tree the Nara had jumped down from. The other's followed suit in their own trees, even the Nara who was going to be running on empty sooner than later. “Nara-san, what's your partner's status?”

 

“He took a kama to the upper shoulder and chest three days past at roughly 19:30,” he said, “which punctured and collapsed his lung. He lost consciousness shortly after, and it took me...” he appeared to be thinking, “six minutes to render the area capable of proper medical care. A make shift chest insertion was deemed necessary to prevent complications from blood in the pulmonary cavity.” All three non-medics winced.

 

“Is it still in?” Risako asked, apparently not phased.

 

“We haven't been in anything approaching a sanitary environment since Konoha,” the Nara said, “it was hard enough getting the damn thing _in_ without taking half the forest with me. I didn't want to risk unsealing the protective bandages.”

 

“Good,” she said firmly. “Do you have medical training?”

 

“Aside from the shinobi standard and a few forced lessons on advanced field training, no. Not for humans, anyway.”

 

“What else would you know it for?” Koji asked, eyeing the boy.

 

“Deer,” Shikamaru said. Nauma nodded – he hadn't been quite able to think up the Nara specialities but deerherding triggered a few memories of Asuma's _Guide to Konoha Clans_. He was fairly certain they were also the go-to assassin clan, which maybe explained the knowledge of the human body sans-medical knowledge.Nauma's pondering was distracted when he noted the river and the docks peaking through the trees already. The kid hadn't slowed them down by any considerable amount. That was some rock hard will power right there.

 

None of the five came to a full stop as they jumped from the trees to the ground, Takeshi rolling as he hit at a slightly odd angle but recovering without stopping. The people on the boat clapped, and Takeshi took a bow as they slowed at the port proper.

 

“Too bad you didn't put on a similar show, Zuru-kun,” a woman with hair that could only be described as slate said, hefting a box titled cinnamon over her shoulder. Cinnamon his ass. The Nara shrugged.

 

“Guess I'm a one trick pony,” he said. An old woman who had been watching them all with a hawk's eye cackled, startling the man at her right.

 

“You're as much a pony as I am a kitten,” she said, voice rough, “but we all have our delusions.” She gestured to the cabin-like thing toward the back of the boat. “Your unlucky fish has been well behaved, I'm told.”

 

“Well he must like Aya-chan more than me,” the Nara said. Takeshi and Koji were already unfolding the stretcher, and Takeshi turned to Shikamaru.

 

“How tall is Mr. Fish?”

 

“Hundred and ninety one centimetres, rounding up,” the Nara said without even stopping to think about it. Takeshi raised an eyebrow.

 

“Do we have that much stretcher?” he asked his partner. The Nara pinned him with a look that could strip paint, apparently telling him no was not an option. Shortly after, a little girl scampered out of the cabin. “Medic-san says you can come help her any time,” she said, peering at the group with interest. “These your friends, Zuru-san?”

 

“Sure,” the Nara said. She beamed, offering her hand to Nauma who took it without so much as blinking.

 

“I'm Ayako,” she said, “I'm Totto-han's friend now so you gotta be nice to him.”

 

“I promise,” Nauma said seriously as he watched the Nara sag from the corner of his eye. From the cabin which must have been a level deep, he could hear Koji swearing as Risako urged them _not to drop the patient_. She had an alarming temper, for a trained medic and a monk.

 

As she said that, Takeshi arrived, eyeing Nara. “You weren't fu-” he caught sight of the various children, “joking around. This guy's tall _and_ heavy.”

 

“No kidding,” the Nara deadpanned, and it occurred to Nauma he must have transported him alone, somehow.

 

“Is this some unsubtle attempt to tell me to go on a diet?” A very, very familiar came from the stretcher, “because I'm telling you it's all muscle.”

 

“Well you know what they say about the muscle bound,” the Nara said. Asuma – who Nauma was going to kill assuming he was as okay as his banter suggest – scoffed.

 

“You're a terrible partner,” he told the kid, “I'm telling Hokage -sama I need a new one.”

 

“Good luck,” the boy said. Takeshi and Koji just shook their heads, smiling, while Riasko sighed in feigned annoyance.

 

“Let's just go,” she said, “the sooner one of you is unconscious the better for me.”

 

* * *

  

To absolutely no one's surprise, Shikamaru was the first to go, though to his credit he managed as far as the tree line just outside the temple before he crumpled face first. Nauma, who was a good guy, caught him, and Asuma managed his usual smile.

 

“Thanks,” he said, tone revealing how much he actually did appreciate it. “You wouldn't imagine the bitching that would go on if he'd woken up and found out he'd actually managed to hit the ground.” Nauma huffed a laugh as he hauled the kid over his shoulder.

 

“Well, since you're a dumbass who can't keep a promise,” Nauma said, “I'll have to cover for you.” Asuma gave him an offended look.

 

“I didn't break any promises,” he said. Nauma quirked an eyebrow. “I am not dead, and I wasn't anywhere near a ditch when I got injured.”

 

“I'm still counting it,” Nauma said firmly. Asuma rolled his eyes, before his face went startlingly serious. “Saru?”

 

“I need paper and your fastest way to get a message to Konohagakure the minute we're in the temple.” Which was about three feet.

 

“No, you need to let me heal you properly,” Risako said, eyeing him and Nauma with curiosity.

 

“Mission comes first,” Asuma said without blinking an eye, “and this mission was a whole lot more complicated and dangerous than anyone guessed.”

 

Nauma frowned. “Asu-”

 

“No. Paper, ink, a messenger and your temple head,” Asuma said, “or you're getting fuck all when it comes to cooperation from me.” As he spoke the temple doors swung open, courtesy of a very irate Risako, and revealed Chiriku who looked one part amused, two parts very grave.

 

“Now there is a voice I did not expect to hear so soon, if ever,” the older man said. “You've one of your requests, at least. I am sure we can accommodate the others,” he turned to Takeshi, “do take him to the nearest close surface,” they made an obvious move to set it down on the ground and he gave them a dry glare. “ _Not_ the floor,” he said, “and then find Mitsuki and tell her she needs to bring a message to Konohagakure as soon as possible. Koji, bring the paper and writing utensils please.”

 

“Of course kashou,” they said, carrying Asuma into the nearest room. Chiriku nodded to Risako, “do what you can, while Asuma-san is waiting,” he said and she bowed, rushing after them, a stubborn set to her jaw. “There goes the clash of the egos,” Chiriku said, “who do you think will win?”

 

“Hard to say,” Nauma said, watching as Koji and Takeshi dodged out of the room toward their respective goals. “Asuma's less temperamental, but she's got the height advantage. For now.” He looked over to his cargo, who was effectively dead to the world. “Should I put him with Asuma?”

 

“I'm sure they would both appreciate that,” Chiriku said. Nauma moved to follow Risako, and paused. “Kashou, do you think this urgent message has to do with us?”

 

Nauma couldn't see his face, but Chiriku's silence spoke volumes.

 

* * *

 

 

Tsunade had not, by anyone's standards, been having a good day. The Nijū Shōtai was still struggling to find information on their quarry besides from those who were known and aside from Uchiha Itachi, almost all dead. Danzō was making noise about sequestering Naruto in some locked cell beneath the ANBU quarters 'for his own safety' _again_ and it was almost midnight, and she hadn't finished last morning's paperwork.

 

Grumbling, she deposited the next _mission cleared_ scroll into the done pile, which never seemed to grow, and turned her attention to the next one. Some day, someone competent was going to be deemed old enough and she was going to make them take this position if she had to tie them to the chair herself. Snapping open the scroll – the only refuge in this task – she put her pen to paper just as the door was opened by a masked and yet irate looking ANBU.

 

“Please tell me something catastrophic is happening,” she said, eyes narrowed, “otherwise someone,” meaning _you and anyone with you,_ “is in very big trouble.”

 

“Nijū Shōtai business,” the ANBU said, and she blinked once before straightening.

 

“No one is due back for at least two days,” she said. The ANBU nodded.

 

“The runner came from the Fire Temple, Hokage-sama.”

 

Tsunade frowned. She had not sent any of the teams in that direction, and had only sent two shinobi within a few miles of the place. Surely, Sarutobi and Nara weren't thinking a few missing teenagers, no matter how brutally killed, were Akatsuki victims. Akatsuki wanted Jinchūriki and unlucky bastards with a high Bingo Book bounty. Sighing she rubbed her forehead.

 

“Is the runner here?”

 

“Yes ma'am.”

 

“Let them in,” she said, no sooner than a black haired young woman in Fire Temple colours ducked under the ANBU's arm and came to stand a few feet from the desk. Politely, she offered the scroll to Shizune at Tsunade's left, who briefly scanned for anything dangerous and handed it to Tsunade.

 

Scanning the scroll, Tsunade checked the urge to swear as colourfully as she knew how. Didn't do to curse in front of a monk, after all, even a young one. The report was short, scrolled in Asuma's hand a little more messily than usual. Of course part of the message read _current_ _situation renders field operations for both operatives highly inadvisable._ Which was only comforting in so much as it had connotations of eventually being able to pass muster. The other bits weren't much better. They had completed their mission, only to have decided the perimeters as they stood did not fully encompass the situation.

 

Giving up on propriety she slammed the scroll down. “Fuck,” she said, startling Shizune only very slightly, while the two ANBU now in the room cocked their heads in obvious question. “Situation normal with Sarutobi and Nara,” she said. “Shizune – assemble a four man unit at your discretion and be at the temple by noon tomorrow, I don't care how.” Shizune nodded firmly and hurried out, cocking a finger and indicating one of the ANBU should follow. To the runner she asked, “what exactly has two of my very talented shinobi too injured to work?”

 

“I'm not so sure,” the girl said, “the younger one didn't look too hurt other than a few cuts, but the bigger one was the only awake when I got there and he could talk and all that but he sounded a bit weird. Risako-san was tending to what I think was a chest wound. Er, she's one of the healers.”

 

Rather unprofessional report aside, she was a monk not a ninja, the news didn't ping any alarms. Nara being unconscious at the time could have been poison, but it could also be something as benign as a much needed nap or some level of chakra exhaustion. Which of course ran the gambit from _I need a juice box_ to _oops my system shut down and now I'm dead_.

 

“Was Nara - the young one - breathing?” she asked. The girl nodded. “Good. That ANBU will help you get something to eat and put you in the temporary barracks for the night.” The girl nodded and followed the fish-masked ANBU out the door.

 

If this turned out to be a false alarm, Tsunade was going to name one her official successor, and stick the other one on wall duty for eternity. It was the only suitable punishment.

 

* * *

  

Asuma was half way through eating his rather bland but apparently restorative lunch when he clocked five incoming chakra signatures. One he knew was Shizune, which was kind of surprising, and he could assume one of the others was the messenger girl from yesterday. Next to him, Shikamaru was curled on his side, fast asleep and tucked in by some thoughtful soul. He looked kind of adorable, actually. Sitting up gingerly, Asuma thanked the attending monk, AKA babysitter who helped him sit up to the mandated few inches.

 

“Thanks,” he said, as the door behind him swung open.

 

“Afternoon, Saru,” Nauma said, opening the window of the room. “Go get lunch for yourself, Saburo,” he said, “I'm sure I can care for two bedridden shinobi. Even very stubborn ones from Konoha.” Saburo bowed, a tiny smile on his face, and Asuma raised an eyebrow.

 

“Shikamaru. Stubborn,” he repeated. “You sure you got the right person?” As he spoke he leaned slightly as if studying his partner. “Mm, same nose. Still looks like a scaled version of his dad.” Nauma gave a tiny laugh, perching lightly on the foot of Shikamaru's bed. “Doesn't look like a henge, either.”

 

“He carried you an unknown distance, bartered service from drug runners, made it to the temple in probably less than five minutes on almost no chakra, refused to stay behind as we went to get you and then almost made it all the way _back_ to the temple before he finally passed out,” Nauma said. “He's stubborn.”

 

Asuma smiled a little fondly at the sleeping teen. “He's all right, for a punk,” he agreed. Outside, he heard Shizune's voice as she greeted Chiriku. A minute later the door opened, Shizune and an unknown Hyūga entering. Shizune made a beeline for Shikamaru, carefully checking his breathing and gently moving his head so she could take his pulse. Shikamaru's eyelashes didn't so much as flutter and she smiled at Asuma, who was watching in blatant concern, not caring about the Hyūga carefully feeling his ribs, dōjutsu activated. After a moment, a pressure on his rib cage was released and he winced as the bloody bamboo was promptly burned as medical waste.

 

“No scarring,” the medic declared, “and the ribs are fine. Fancy bit of adaption with the bamboo, too. Probably saved you a heart attack. You may want to double check his lungs for yourself, Shizune-sensei.” Shizune nodded, coming over to him, offering the Hyūga a smile.

 

“Can you get food and some salt water for Nara-kun, Mizuya-san?”

 

“Of course,” he said, shaking his head. “Waking him up for a salt water and chakra pill combo, poor kid.” Shizune laughed softly, the familiar glow of a medical jutsu. Gently, she urged him to roll to his left, letting her access his back.

 

“You're pretty lucky, you know,” she said, “that Shikamaru's who he is. Plenty wouldn't have been able to treat this.” Translation; most partners would have had to burn your body.

 

“He's a punk,” Asuma said, “but he's a good punk.” Asuma had literally been with him less than two days, at least less than two days while awake, and already he was pretty sure it was going to work out. Shikamaru was smart, dedicated, talented and didn't ruin the scenery with his presence. Not to mention, Asuma didn't stupidly throw himself on blades for people he didn't like. As Shizune worked the barest of tightness that had been in his chest completely relaxed, and he took a deep breath despite his creaky ribs.

 

“And your lung is one hundred percent back to normal,” she declared, “I just soothed some chakra marks which would have taken a bit longer to clear.” She eased him back, eyeing him. “Tsunade-sama wants to know how exactly five missing people lead to an Akatsuki situation.” As she talked, Hyūga returned, a bowl of restorative soup and a glass of water in hand. Ruefully, he seemed to realized his patient would be hard to wake without his hands, and Nauma laughed, standing and gently shaking Shikamaru.

 

“Nara-san,” he said, “gotta wake up kid, Saru's going to give himself an ulcer.” No reaction, other than Asuma scowling at him. “Nara-san, we've got soup and gross water for you, then you can go back to bed.” Shikamaru finally shifted, though he didn't open his eyes. “It's good soup,” Nauma said, and Asuma barely bit back a snort.

 

Finally, Shikamaru peeled open an eye, and Asuma would have snickered if the bruises under his eyes weren't so obvious. “You're lying,” he told Nauma, lurching up and swinging his legs over his bed. He made no move to stand, simply held out his hand to Mizuya with the resignation of a man condemned. Mizuya, who looked about as openly amused as a Hyūga could, offered the glass of water to the chūnin.

 

“It's cold, at least,” he said, and Shikamaru wrinkled his nose before chugging it, managing to wince while doing so. As he drank, Chiriku and presumably the other two members of Shizune's team walked in, closing the door behind him.

 

“Should I leave?” Nauma asked, and Chiriku shook his head.

 

“I believe this is something we will all end up hearing, sooner rather than later,” he said. Asuma sighed, sitting up even more and started the story of how absolutely sideways his and Shikamaru's mission had gone.

 


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised - your warning. This is the chapter where we say goodbye to several people - none of whom go very graphically, and one of our mains gets a rather gory injury. If blood disturbs you deeply, then sorry, but I promise the scene is fairly short.

They came sooner than they were really expecting, just as the sun was dipping behind the mountains surrounding the temple. One minute, quiet reigned save the chants from the back temple, the next, the sound of something exploding had Asuma leaping to his feet, and grabbing the shirt supplied to him by the temple. It was a little tight in the shoulders, but that was the story of his life. Tugging it on he groped sightly for his utility belt, surprised when someone offered it to him. Pulling the shirt on completely he came face to face with a determined Mizuya.

 

“Asuma-san you're needed,” he said just as a second a second explosion rocked the entire building. “Prayer room, now.”

 

“Then let's go,” Asuma said. Just to his left Shikamaru didn't budge. Sadly the side effect to the best chakra pills were they knocked you on your ass, since sleep was the best way to recuperate. He spared the boy a glance, worried, and decided he'd just have to make sure no one who'd hurt him got this far. They left the room at a speeds that would make a civilian cry, coming to a halt at the smoking crater that had been the main prayer room.

 

“Oh kami-sama,” Asuma breathed, looking to Mizuya. “Any survivors?”

 

“Five alive,” the Hyūga said, obviously scanning “three casualties among them. Another three, were puttering around the rest of the temple, they're here and two were running patrol, we don't know about them.”

 

Seven monks, three of whom were not here at the moment, and five shinobi against likely two Akatsuki. People who had taken out several Jinchūriki. It was not terribly good for the confidence. Shizune was busy trying to stabilize three different people, all badly burnt. Mizuya knelt next to her, one eye on his team mates, the other on his task in helping Shizune.

 

They were harrying a light haired man, dipping and weaving as he wielded an insanely large scythe. Despite his, and it's, size he was moving quickly. Two of the active monks were sprawled next to them, obviously not alive. He did not see Chiriku or Nauma. Worse, he didn't see the second Akatsuki. No sooner had he thought that then a familiar body landed next to him, Nauma's expression as deadly as it had been back when it felt like them against the world. This wasn't the world, however. It was it's rotten, festering underbelly.

 

“I don't suppose you're here to tell me you took out the other one,” Asuma said, and Nauma shook his head mutely. Shizune swore.

 

“There's no reason for them to be here,” she said, “except for bounties,” her eyes flicked to Nauma and Asuma rather pointedly. “Do you know where your temple head is?”

 

“He was making sure the two who could walk got out of here,” he said, “he'll be with us in a moment.” A monk, in the middle of a very well aimed lightning jutsu, froze and died with little more than a twitch as his opponent laughed louder than ever. One of the shinobi retreated, leaping up over the lip of the crater, panting.

 

“Kotetsu,” Shizune said, “are you hurt?”

 

“No ma'am,” he said, his head jerking as metal screeched on metal and his partner barely ducking _under_ the other man and behind him. “He's got some weird jutsu going,” he said, “thought you should know.”

 

“Weird?” Nauma asked.

 

“Yeah, face went all strange, white on black, like a skeleton, he's standing in this circle thing. Not sure what it all does but that monk hit him with a lightning jutsu, and died from it.” They all frowned.

 

“Anyone know a damage-deflecting jutsu which targets the person trying to do the damage and only them?” Asuma asked, and wasn't surprised when no one had an affirmative. “Anything else?”

 

“He laughs a lot. Keeps talking about false gods and how we all need to be cleansed, sounds fucking insane I-I gotta – Izumo I gotta go back down there.” Before anyone could object he was off, barrelling into his friend to save him from a downward strike. Asuma, however, was more focused on what _wasn't_ happening, namely, a second Akatsuki fighter. He was ready to turn around, tell Shizune he was needed elsewhere -

 

“Asuma,” Shizune said, cutting through his thoughts. “They are extremely competent, jokes or not. But they're only chūnin and half the time they're desk jockeys or gate guards. Please, attend to them.”

 

“We'll go, sensei,” Nauma assured her and he and Asuma, falling back into an old pattern, leapt down after Kotetsu. Asuma resolved to ignore the niggling part of him that insisted he needed to go get Shikamaru, in favour of focus.

 

* * *

  

Shikamaru cursed and snarled as he fought to fully wake up, his limbs and brain completely out of sync. Smoke wafted faintly around him and he could hear an alarm bell clanging. Outside, someone yelped in pain, and came flying through the rice paper wall. Freezing, he watched as a bald woman landed slumped against the wall, a hole where her stomach should be. It took a moment to reorient himself to the person who had done the damage, his mind working slowly as it was. Acid green eyes stared back.

 

Well fuck. Here he was alone, only half dressed, brain slower than ever and none of him complying with what orders it _could_ give. He didn't even have a shirt, dammit. There was less than zero chance of surviving this without intervention in the form of whichever theoretical deity might be looking in on them. Considering they were in an under attack temple, Shikamaru somehow didn't think that deity was going to be much help.

 

“You look almost familiar,” the Akatsuki said after a moment. Apparently not at all worried about Shikamaru managing to do him any damage, he pulled a book from a pocket, and flipped through the pages, stopping on what Shikamaru knew was the N section of the Bingo Book. “Are you and your father close?” He asked.

 

Shikamaru just curled a hand around his blanket. Sighing the Akatsuki shook his head, putting the book back. “I'm looking for someone else,” he said, “so this isn't really anything personal. It's not even a business interaction, I'm afraid. Such a waste. At least your body will get to stay here. People other than I will have something to remember you by.” He cracked his knuckles. Taijutsu user, probably competent in all other areas, knowing his group affiliation. Methodical, a little cocky.

 

All Shikamaru ever really needed with a little. A little time. A little ego. A little shadow. Not waiting for the Akatsuki to come to him, he forced himself backward, throwing his pillow and kicking the bed at the man. Neither fazed him, the blanket blasted away and the bed backhanded through the wall, but it worked about as well as Shikamaru had expected.

 

Dashing through the tattered remains of the wall he ignored the sting of shattered, lacquered wood on bare feet, leaping behind the barely-together bed, the only thing between him and very certain death. His legs buckled and he grasped the wall, pushing himself away and forward not even caring that he was effectively running away from an enemy with little hope of escape.

 

When Shizune died he was going to be there to yell at her. Loudly. She _could_ have given him the sub par stuff and avoided this.

 

Cursing under his breath he managed a few feet before he ended up sprawled on his back, a punch leaving him breathless from pain and cracked ribs. Gasping he tried to stand but simply couldn't. The wall didn't do much to help, sadly.

 

“Diversionary tactics,” the Akatsuki said. “Rudimentary. Pointless. But somewhat effective. It's lucky you're here with me. Hidan wouldn't have appreciated your display at all.”

 

 _Luck would be you having a heart attack_ , Shikamaru would have said had he the breath. Instead he just scuttled a little toward the next hall even as the other man advanced much more quickly than he could dream of moving, right now. “Had we caught each other at a better time, I might have a reason to respect you,” he continued. “You never answered my question. Are you close to your father?”

 

“I'm not really in the mood for twenty questions,” he managed. The man shrugged, hands coming together in a seal.

 

“I think that's answer enough.”

 

* * *

 

About two minutes into the fight with the Akatsuki confirmed two things. One, he was crazier than a rat in a shithouse, and two, he was exceedingly dangerous. Well, he'd broken through the temple seals and reduced a room at the other end of the complex to a crater with less than a minute between them. Of course he was dangerous. He'd officially taken out all the monks except Nauma, and Chiriku was nowhere to be seen. Shizune and Mizuya had joined them, both providing support via distance healing and a surprisingly strong suiton respectively.

 

The Akatsuki was enjoying himself entirely too much.

 

“All these fucking liars,” he said as he almost lazily swiped at Nauma, “all these fucking liars, struck down too fucking fast. Jashin wanted blood and he got it but me? Y'see this? These fuckers all of 'em, blades through the stomach and stopping their own Hell bound hearts.”

 

Kotetsu, to Asuma's left, stumbled and almost tripped toward the Akatsuki, causing Asuma to haul him back and _throw_ him away from the enemy.

 

“No good, I'm telling ya,” he said, “you've got experience the pain, to make it worth anything.” As he talked he swung his scythe again, rapidly toward Izumo and then Nauma, who hissed as it nicked his ear. “Ah yeah you see?” Akatsuki grinned broadly, pointing at Nauma. “That right there's the good stuff. None of this quick and easy bullshit.”

 

Asuma scowled, but did gesture for both allies near him to retreat. So far, their saving grace had been his reluctance to leave his circle.

 

“No wasted pain,” he said, “waste's a sin, y'see?”

 

And shoved his weapon through his own chest.

 

* * *

  

Shikamaru gasped for breath that wasn't coming, white marring his vision. Whatever jutsu the Akatsuki used _hurt_ even if Shikamaru had managed to avoid getting hit straight in the back with it. His dodging was not on par, and now here he was, sprawled on his stomach and trying not to vomit in pain. Someone was speaking, likely the man who was going to kill him here, lying on the floor of a destroyed temple with tears of pain streaming down his face, and the roar in his ears rendered him effectively deaf. His heart beat, rapid and loud, didn't help.

 

Briefly, his hand clenched as he considered one last ditch attempt to make his body _move_ but it meant very little. He couldn't. Other than his hand, nothing was working. In a very dark way, it was kind of funny he'd managed to get down the hall he'd been aiming for. Granted he'd only done so when the force of the jutsu sent him ass over head. Pain hit him again as something jarred him, flinging him into the wall and he thought he screamed, but his vision went white and the last thing he saw was a flash of orange dance in front of his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Asuma practically dragged Kotetsu up the crater's edge, Mizuya doing the same for Izumo as Shizune's ridiculously potent poison blossomed behind them. Retreating to the distance Shizune deemed safe they watched as the thick, dark poison filled the entire bowl.

 

“Wow,” Izumo said, in the voice of someone too overwhelmed to actually feel anything. “That's a lot of poison, sensei.” As he spoke, a figure recognizable by their coat came out of the temple from where Asuma and Mizuya had originally come. He didn't look particularly upset, eyeing the poison as he dumped something next to him with a heavy thump.

 

“I suppose you're down there,” he called into it, provoking a stream of very creative swearing from below them. “I would leave you,” the man said, “maybe you'd learn a lesson, but we've been summoned.” As he spoke he stepped into the slowly dissipating poison, obviously not bothered by it's lethality. “ _And_ you've lost your head again,” he said, “some day I'm not going to put back on and you're going to have to be stuck.”

 

“Fuck you shithead,” the head of their previous opponent said. “I was communing with my god among these false prophets and one of the fuckers cut off my fucking head. That fair to you?”

 

“If it teaches you a lesson,” the man said, lifting the talking head.

 

“Not the fucking hair that fucking _hurts._ ”

 

The fully assembled partner didn't speak, just went about...attaching...the head to it's original position in a way that didn't seem comfortable. “Yeah, you do your job and I'll get the rest of these fuckers.” The Akatsuki cracked his neck, turning toward them.

 

“No, Hidan,” the other said, hand catching his partner's arm. “We've been recalled. You'll grab this body, we'll get the bounty and we'll report in.”

 

“Fuck that motherfucker and fuck the bodies,” Hidan stretched grabbing for his scythe, stopped by his partner-friend-whatever.

 

“No.” He lifted Nauma, dropping him over Hidan's shoulder, “we're leaving.”

 

Hidan muttered in disgust, sneering at the surviving ninja. “I'll get you. All of ya. Jashin demands it,” he said as they departed through the ruins of the west wall, stopping to pick up the other person. Asuma almost bit through his tongue, resisting the urge to yell after them or try and retrieve Nauma's body. It was pointless, he'd get his satisfaction another way. For a moment no one said anything, breathing hard, until Kotetsu broke the silence.

 

“Well we know what one does, and his name,” he said, “though maybe it wasn't worth it.” Around them, scattered like so many dolls were the bodies of the fallen monks. They had fought well. Against anyone else most if not all of their attacks would have been deadly. “Doesn't feel so great, huh? All of us here to to help, and then being the only survivors.”

 

All of us...

 

Asuma felt like he'd been punched, colour draining from his face and he didn't even think before he was dashing through the crater, vaulting over the far edge and racing down the hall, heart thudding. Behind him, he heard a shout, felt the others follow after him but it didn't matter it didn't -

 

The room they'd left Shikamaru in was utterly destroyed. The bed he'd been in was in the hall, shattered and the remains the wall fluttered in the night breeze. There was a body, too, but it was female. The only blood was hers and Asuma's throat closed around the possibility Shikamaru had been the body the other man had been carrying. No – it made no sense. Shikamaru didn't have a bounty. He was seventeen and smart enough to keep out of the limelight, at least the limelight outside Konoha.

 

“Mizuya,” he barked, his mind refusing to process any possibility this scene suggested. “Where is he?”

 

“Wha-” the Hyūga had been in a daze since they crawled out of the crater, and Asuma was reminded he'd been brought along as support in case anyone had been really-truly dying. Not because he was field-ready yet.

 

“Where. Is. Shikamaru.”

 

“I -hall – end of the hall. Around the corner. I don't see...his chakra is barely there I...”

 

Chakra. Barely there, but there all the same and chakra meant life. Asuma almost hit the wall in his haste, flying down the hall and sliding to his knees next to the completely immobile chūnin. His back and side were a mess of blood. Skin and muscle were shredded or just gone. Bones shattered and cracked. Burns, chakra and otherwise, ringed the damage and climbed up his back to wrap around his opposite side like two, thick claw marks. More blood was pooled behind them, far too much. It couldn't be Shikamaru's however, because there was a whole lot. He would be dead, if it was his, and obviously he wasn't dead because Asuma was going to kick his punk ass if he was.

 

Shizune was across from him, groping for a pulse, and further behind them someone was retching. Asuma didn't check to see who – Izumo had seemed surprisingly close to Shikamaru. Or very willing to tease him.

 

“Come on Shikamaru,” she muttered, “I know you're there.” A second later, her fingers stopped moving, and her mouth started to tremble.

 

* * *

  

No matter what anyone did, waiting rooms were inherently terrible places. The ICU waiting room was the worst. Decorated with muted but comfortable chairs, painted in purposefully calming colours and spotted with planets, it was enough to make someone scream. You sat there as people you loved and had sworn your loyalty to hung to life by their fingernails. And all you could do was  _nothing_. Shinobi had one intolerance shared across all borders; helplessness. It was always the enemy.

 

Despite the fact it felt like a small lifetime, they'd arrived here less than two minutes ago. Kotetsu had been sent ahead to give the hospital time to prep while Mizuya and Shizune drove themselves to the point of exhaustion stabilizing Shikamaru all through the journey. The entire time he hadn't so much as twitched, just shallow, wet breaths that did barely anything to convince his companions he was alive.

 

Shizune had whisked off with him while Mizuya, lurching on his feet and barely able to keep his eyes open, took them to the waiting room. Now he was stretched out on a series of re-jigged chairs, a nurse had given him a blanket and a pillow. Asuma sat, head in his hands fingers gripping his hair. Across from him Kotetsu was pale faced, Izumo was finally dry eyed. Apparently he'd babysat Shikamaru when he was younger, since Shikamaru's mother was his second cousin-however many times removed, or something.

 

Asuma just didn't know what to do. Medical experts always had the same advice. _Go home. Take a shower. Eat._ Because usually there wouldn't be news for hours, and surely doing those things made people feel better. The problem was, Asuma did not _want_ to feel better. He was a veteran shinobi, had been a jōnin since the war with Iwa, had been so _good_ at being a shinobi he'd been recruited into the Daimyō's own guard. It was his job to look after the members of his team, especially those who were both almost half his age and a rank below him.

 

And yet, on a simple mission to find some missing kids, Shikamaru had been the one who took care of him. Shikamaru who had killed Momaru. Shikamaru who spent three days awake, draining his chakra just to make sure Asuma didn't choke on his own blood. Shikamaru who Asuma had left alone in the middle of an invasion. Shikamaru who was on an operating table because someone had ripped a very sizable chunk of his side out. All because Asuma hadn't done his job.

 

He wanted to take a page from Izumo's book and throw up.

 

Around him things were quiet, and he appreciated it. It wouldn't take long for news to reach Shikamaru's friends and family. He was trying to imagine Ino, who'd happily been looking in on him since the first time they talked, showing up in tears. The others were harder to picture. Of course, Akimichi would be here. Yoshino-san would arrive...would anyone else? Would Shikaku? The one's he had met at dinner...

 

Asuma really did not know if he could stomach being in a room with any of them. He could barely sit in this room, where everyone was too out-there to realize how much he'd fucked up. The sound of rushing feet hit him like a sledge hammer, and he looked up in time for a pink haired girl in a white coat to come to a halt. Just ahead of her, the semi-familiar Hyūga was leaning against the wall, lips pressed into a thin line, eyebrows drawn.

 

A mere second behind them was the Hokage, a sight to see in flapping green robes and an expression that looked so determined it could have convinced the Hokage Mountain to move from her way. “Hyūga,” she barked, taking up the file people kept looking at every time they passed, “aren't you supposed to be recovering in bed?”

 

“Yes, Hokage-sama,” he said.

 

“Sakura – aren't you supposed to be _healing_ him in bed.”

 

“Yes Hokage-sama but a nurse helping me mentioned a Nara had been brought in, codes blue and omega and then Neji asked _which_ Nara and she said Shikamaru and then he was halfway down the hall and I thought I could help somehow.” Tsunade gave them both the stink eye, setting the clipboard down with a slam.

 

“Hyūga, sit down and don't die. Sakura, we're in op. 2, the nurse outside will tell you the prep.” With that she swept out, Hyūga following the Hokage's command and sitting rather gingerly a seat down from Izumo – directly across from Asuma. Asuma blinked and just stared. He hadn't really expected to see him, out of everyone.

 

“What?” he asked after a moment, pinning Asuma with the ice cold glare most of the clan had. “Do I offend you, Sarutobi-san?”

 

“Not all that much,” Asuma said, “just didn't really expect to see you here.”

 

“Because you know me so well,” was the rather tight, angry reply. Wow. Someone wasn't happy. For a moment he tried to think of something to say other than _I'm sorry I possibly killed your friend_ when Hyūga surprised him by offering information. “We did not part on good terms, Shikamaru and I.” _And now I may not get to make amends_ did not need saying.

 

“He was over it, the next day,” Asuma said instead and the Hyūga gave him a completely humourless smile.

 

“He's never over it, when he and I decide to go at it, Sarutobi-san,” the younger jōnin said, “he just pretends the hits never made contact and hopes it will go away.”

 

“You fight a lot?”

 

“No. We fight dirty.”

 

Naturally. Pit two insightful people with razor sharp intelligence against one another and it won't come to physical blows. It'll come down to vicious psychoanalysis and barbed attacks on fears more dangerous than any animal going for your throat. He'd seen it in the Twelve, Nauma and Saito, in fact, had been the ones doing it. Nauma had not been terribly broken up over Saito's death. Neji seemed like he would not take Shikamaru's well at _all_.

 

Nothing else was said. Kotetsu shuffled off and came back with four cups of hot chocolate, claiming it tasted less like Genma's poisons than the coffee did. All Asuma did was stare at it. Shikamaru was barely alive, Nauma was – he gulped hard – dead. Chiriku was likely dead. He'd gone there to warn and protect them, been in _charge_ of protecting Shikamaru. Look where they were. The thought ran in circles, chasing one another like back alley dogs. Almost dead. Dead. Likely dead. Failed. Failed. Failed. Rinse and repeat.

 

After five minutes of Asuma trying not drown himself with the hot cocoa, feet could be heard coming their way. Blonde hair, red-brown hair and two dark haired figures turned the corner. True to Asuma's assumptions, the Yamanaka was in tears, clutching her team mate so tight her knuckles were white.

 

Chōji wasn't much better, biting his lip, his genin-sensei's hand resting on his shoulder in silent support. The worse was Yoshino-san, face so white it would match fine porcelain. No tears, but her lips were pressed so hard together they were invisible. Gekkō directed her to a seat close to the corner – and the washroom, and Ino rushed to Asuma and to his surprise hugged him.

 

“Thank you for bringing him home, Asuma,” she said into his shoulder and he almost choked on his tongue.

 

He, Sarutobi Asuma, was officially the worst mission partner in the history of Konohagakure.

 

* * *

  

“No,” Tsunade said as she leaned back in her chair, “you'll have a temporary member, and then Nara will take his place as the second in your team once he's fit for missions.”

 

Asuma wanted very badly to scream or hit something. He could not do that later, however. Tsunade would not appreciate infantile fits in the slightest. She was also staring him down like a cat looking at a mouse, and Asuma was just glad Shizune had been sent out, though she could probably back his claim for 'so incompetent it's almost funny' levels of awfulness.

 

Through ground teeth he said, “Tsunade-sama, I appreciate your resolve on the matter but I really truly believe Nara would benefit most from a different team placement.” The stare didn't waiver and she set her fingers together in a steeple.

 

“Do you find Shikamaru's performance on the last mission not up to your standards, Asuma?” she asked. “I can see how you may.”

 

His jaw very literally dropped. “You're joking, right?”

 

“I have too much paperwork to joke. Or so Shizune would tell me.”

 

“I'm not impressed with _my_ performance on the last mission,” he said, “and I don't want to force Shikamaru to have to think about whether I'll fall through in the same way every time we get sent out in the field.”

 

Tsunade was unmoved, still staring him down. “Did you know,” she said just after the silence had stretched into levels of uncomfortable usually reserved for shopping, “that in the past week, Shizune has asked me to dock her pay and look into malpractice, and Hyūga Mizuya wanted an official reprimand? Shizune feels she endangered a life without thinking of the consequences by giving Nara a standard chakra pill. Hyūga thinks he endangered his life by failing to cope with the stress of the situation and stalling the team a handful of seconds in finding Nara. So, I've two capable jōnin and a promising medic coming into my office asking me to rap their knuckles, while meanwhile I'm out two of my best strategists. Shikaku's not off his game, but a person can only do so much when their only child is in a coma.”

 

Asuma flinched at the reminder.

 

She rested her chin on her hand, eyes still sharp. “So no, you're not getting those team rearranged, Shizune's not being charged with malpractice or even technically docked for pay and all that's happening to Mizuya is a few session with a therapist and a lesson from veteran field medics in how not to burst into tears when you invariably can't help someone.”

 

Asuma was not giving in that easily. “I was his partner, and his senior on that mission. I left him alone in a room that didn't even have protective seals on it, and I'm the reason he ended up trying to escape a dangerous nuke-nin without enough chakra or presence of mind to even make an escape. Fuck – two seasoned highly dangerous shinobi lost to those guys with ease. People I was _also_ supposed to protect, meaning in every facet I fucked up that mission. Shikamaru's only alive because of a miracle.”

 

And Asuma didn't have many of those up his sleeve.

 

“Kami-sama save me from Konoha shinobi,” the Hokage groused, hauling out a saké bottle. “Fine. You want punishment? Your punishment will be to suck it up and deal with it,” she said, “the rest of your team will meet you on training ground twenty one at o-six hundred, Monday.” Asuma rose at the dismissal and bowed, biting his tongue.

 

Screw punching and screaming. He was going to get blind drunk and go cry in his rooms.

 

* * *

  

Kotetsu and Izumo hit the ground the way they generally did things, namely together. Kotetsu let out a groan as Asuma leaned against a tree, grinning broadly at them. “You're an evil man, Asuma,” he said, managing to stand and giving his partner a hand up. Asuma just chuckled, echoed by the man in the tree behind him.

 

“You've been inducted into the best, boys,” he said, “so play time is over.” After all, two of the best had _died_ against these Akatsuki. Best that Asuma had trained beside for years – he'd be damned if either of these two were going to follow Nauma and Chiriku to wherever they were now. Not on his watch.

 

Izumo nodded solemnly, looking instinctively toward the hospital. “Hey,” Kotetsu said, nudging him, “you think you want him here now but just wait until he's embarrassing us without anything more than some chakra wire and an explosive tag.”

 

“I can't wait,” Asuma said, “embarrassment is good incentive.” Kotetsu gave him a wounded look.

 

“And he's _not_?” Kotetsu jerked a thumb toward their temporary member, who waved back from behind his book.

 

“I'm a delight,” Kakashi drawled, not looking up. Izumo's mouth twitched into a smile, before he looked up at the sun, squinting. Asuma knew what was coming next before Izumo even looked back at him.

 

“Sensei, it's almost eleven thirty, we've been here since six. Could we take a lunch break or something? I want to go see Shikamaru. I haven't had time the past few days.” Behind him, Kotetsu held up two fingers and mouthed _days_.

 

“Sure thing,” Asuma said, ignoring the slight tug at his conscious that pointed out _his_ running tally for not visiting was a full week. More pointedly, not since Shikamaru woke up. “I think we're done with the conditioning anyway. Tomorrow will be longer, since we had today to warm up. Remember to check in for code-breaking at twenty hundred.”

 

“Yes sir,” the two said in unison, before Izumo gave him him a questioning look.

 

“I know you're busy, sensei, but did you want to come?” There was a hint of steel there. His eyes didn't have the usual easy, relaxed tilt to them, instead they were pinched. His jaw flexed the longer Asuma took to answer.

 

The main problem was, Asuma did not want to go. The last time he'd seen Shikamaru, he'd looked about as awful as some of they kyūbi victims had. Breathing tube, more IVs than Asuma had cared to count, gauze wrapped around him and completely still. The nurse on duty at the time had assured him the coma was induced, that his raging infection and terrifyingly high temperature hadn't managed to fry his brain, but it hadn't been comforting. Nor had the icey coldness of his hands and the dronning beep of the heart rate monitor.

 

He hadn't stopped by, after that.

 

“I don't know Izumo.” He could _feel_ Kakashi looking at him, but trucked on. “I don't want to intrude and he can't possibly be up for it now -”

 

“I think he'd really like to see you sensei,” Izumo said, voice level “a fresh face would be nice, at least.”

 

There wasn't a way to wriggle out of this, not one any competent shinobi wouldn't spot a mile off. “As long as I'm not unwanted,” he said at last. Kotetsu was eyeing him, obviously aware of Asuma's desire to flee in the opposite direction. Behind him, Kakashi's book shut softly.

 

Fuck it all.

 

The walk to the hospital was too short for anything at all, the two landing at the door, dusting off before entering. Dirty shinobi were part and parcel with hospitals, but they appreciated a little attempt, anyhow. Izumo lead them straight to the elevator, nodding to the receptionist, and pressing the number for the sixth floor. Asuma's stomach dropped.

 

Progressive care units were not where people expected to recover quickly went. The floor was quiet, as with most except there were nurses than usual. They moved with the purpose all medical personnel did, and one nodded to Izumo, smiling slightly.

 

Asuma shifted uncomfortably. “Should I even be here? I'm not family.”

 

“Technically it's against the rules, but it's also against the rules in the ICU,” Izumo shrugged, “I guess they decided it was better to have people use the door than scaling the building and using the window.”

 

Asuma snorted quietly. Yeah, he'd done that a few times and had it done in reverse for him. Shinobi were like cats. 'No' was more of a challenge than anything else.

 

Shikamaru's room was as quiet as the waiting room, just the beep and whirl of machines. The curtains were opening, making it seem less depressing than plain lighting would, at least. The door closed just as quietly behind them, and Asuma saw Izumo adopt the same smile people used on very frightened children. “Hey itoko,” he said, approaching the bed, “you awake?”

 

Shikamaru, who'd been facing the window, turned his head, blinking slowly. His eyes were glazed, face still far paler than healthy, and a small grin that was not at all reassuring broke across his face. “Hey,” he said, voice incredibly hoarse. “No breathing tube.” He sounded elated which confirmed Asuma's suspicions. Definitely drugged to the pure lands and back.

 

Izumo's smile morphed from that _don't be scared,_ smile to a genuine grin, his shoulders relaxing as he pulled up the chair. “That's good news,” he said, “I think I was missing your dulcet tones.” He jerked a thumb toward Asuma, “I brought company.” Shikamaru didn't appear to have much range of motion, but he could tilt his head a few inches.

 

“Hey,” he said, in the exact tone he'd greeted Izumo, dim smile not so much as twitching. This was painful, at best.

 

“Kid,” Asuma said leaning against Izumo's chair, “they have got you on the good stuff.”

 

“Mmm,” Shikamaru agreed, eyes drifting back upward. “They make me drink through a straw.”

 

“Cruelty to the extreme,” Izumo said, still grinning. Shikamaru blinked as if agreeing. “Is it grape?”

 

“Mmm,” Shikamaru said again. “I don' like it very much.”

 

“No kidding,” Asuma said, smiling at him. “Should we tell them to get apple, instead?”

 

“Nn,” the boy said, “cranberry.”

 

Asuma chuckled and Izumo gave a laugh, just as a nurse poked her head in the door. “Sorry, Izumo-san I know you just got here, but his next treatment is today and we'll need the room in a minute.” Izumo nodded, standing up and briefly patting Shikamaru very lightly on the head.

 

“I'll swing by later,” he said, “and I'll try and convince them about the cranberry.” Shikamaru just hummed, eyelids dropping closed, as several nurses and a long haired doctor filtered in.

 

Asuma exited with just a wave to Shikamaru, though he wasn't looking any longer. Izumo was at the nurse's station, leaning against it, arms crossed.

 

“He been like that the entire time?” Asuma asked.

 

“Hmm?” Izumo shook himself from whatever reverie had him. “Oh. No. That's been the best day so far. His breathing tube,” he mimed the plastic which had been helping the boy breathe so far. “It had made it so he couldn't speak at all. He couldn't stay awake that long, anyway. The first few days he may as well still have been in that coma, really.” Izumo shrugged. “The doctors couldn't heal it all because of all the damage and he's got so little chakra right now. You have to balance how much you give against how much they have and everything right? So it's going in stages. Especially since he's not really rebuilding his chakra supplies right now. Body's too busy, I guess. Um, I think this is the second to last.” He shook his head as they entered the elevator.

 

“You're not happy,” Asuma said. “Not fond of hospitalized relatives?”

 

Izumo scoffed, slamming the close door button so hard Asuma was surprised it didn't break. “No, not so much,” he said, “especially not my youngest and only cousin.”

 

Asuma nodded as the door pinged, and they exited. Obviously, this was not a talk to have in public, not at all, and they exited together at a pace that could only be called calculated. Out the door, down the street, and into an alley before either spoke.

 

“You're angry with me,” Asuma said, leaning against a wall. Izumo took a deep breath, staring resolutely at a point above Asuma's shoulder.

 

“Yes.”

 

Asuma didn't respond.

 

“He shouldn't have been alone, Asuma,”” Izumo said. “He was your partner and your responsibility as his senior and you fucked it up so bad he can barely fucking breath.” Izumo's gaze had snapped down to Asuma, brows practically together, hands clenched next to him. “So yes, sensei I'm angry I had to watch two medics try and stabilize him, but didn't have the energy to do much more than keep him breathing. I am angry that yesterday he woke up _screaming_ because you can't pump someone full of morphine 24/7 and nothing else _works_.”

 

Asuma flinched at that – he hadn't heard but of course no one had a reason to tell him. “I know,” he said at last, keeping Izumo's gaze. “I've told myself. I've told Tsunade-sama. Do you want to hear it, too?”

 

Izumo visibly deflated, sagging against his own wall. “No,” he said, before mumbling something Asuma didn't catch. He frowned.

 

“I'd really rather you say it to my face,” he said, “working with you isn't going to be easy as it is.” Izumo sighed.

 

“I don't need to hear it,” he said, “because it's my fault too. I did it all the same, and he's family.”

 

Of course, on the field family did not come first, but it was hard to remember at time like this. Asuma didn't say anything for a moment, before reaching forward, clapping the chūnin on the shoulder.

 

“We can be shitty shinobi together, then,” he said. “Want some soba?”

 

* * *

  

The soba went about as well as you could expect from two guilt ridden shinobi, namely, they ate in silence and then excused themselves to a bar. Take out and bad hangovers were a staple of Asuma's youth, and appeared to be trying to edge back into his life. Which was why he was at Konoha's worst and yet most beloved bar.

 

The Horse's Mouth was, without a doubt, the most resilient building ever made, having survived everything to ever happen to Konoha almost exactly as-is. It was, technically, a civilian bar, insomuch as anything in a hidden village was _civilian_ but shinobi tended to congregate there.

 

One, the drinks were cheap, if terrible, and got you drunk fast. Two, the furniture was all cheaper than the drinks, meaning you could throw it around and the owner didn't get too fussed. Third, and most importantly, it was a grubby hole in the wall where no one would bother you unless absolutely necessary.

 

Izumo and Asuma were at the bar proper, forcing down various drinks which were likely all the same turpentine in different bottles, and generally ignoring and being ignored by their fellow shinobi. One in the back, at least, was providing an amusing story about the world's most inept genin team, obviously distracting his moping friend.

 

“You know,” a rough, very familiar voice came from behind Asuma, who suddenly felt the urge to drown in the paint stripper in his glass. “I had a genin team only borderline better than that poor man's.”

 

Nara Shikaku took a seat next to Asuma without another word, gesturing a no thanks to the bar tender. For a moment Asuma considered running away and committing seppuku just to get out of whatever Shikaku had planned, but realized he'd never get out the door. Damn shadow jutsu.

 

“Izumo, your partner was sniffing around, apparently annoyed about learning code breaking on his own?” though phrased like a question it was obviously a command. _Go away_. Mumbling his apologies and thanking his cousin-in-law with a slight bow Izumo scurried off without paying. Shikaku didn't even blink, just passing the necessary money to the ancient bartender.

 

Asuma remained silent. Partly out of fear, which he would deny to his rapidly approaching dying breath, and partly because there was nothing to say. Shikaku was a man with a mind like a Grass Country knife, and the deadliness to back it up. His opinions were likely far more advanced and set in stone than Asuma's.

 

“Shikamaru was relieved, when I went to see him earlier,” the jōnin commander said at last. Asuma finally looked over, frowning.

 

“About what, commander?”

 

“You dropping by,” was the reply. Dark eyes were locked on his face, expression completely neutral which could mean _I'm amused but hiding it_ or _I'm going to string you up from your father's old office_. “He's not lucid, of course,” he continued as if he weren't levelling Asuma with a stare that would make tatami mats run away. “So he rambled a bit, but he did go out of his way to mention it as well as he could.”

 

Asuma took a drink. “I was glad to see him too. He's doing better, I guess.”

 

“About as well as we hoped for, given the circumstances,” Shikaku said, finally looking away to study what the bar had to offer. Dust, mostly. “I understand you don't want him on your cell. I opted not to mention that to him.”

 

He was definitely going to be strung up. Possibly with his own intestines.

 

“It's not that he's not a good shinobi, Shikaku-sama,” he said, “I'd be honoured to have him with us. I just don't see how he'll trust us again.” They had, unequivocally fucked it up. Really, truly badly. “You don't leave unconscious team mates unattended with an enemy invading, Shikaku-sama. I _knew_ that and even thought of it, but thought I'd be more important elsewhere.”

 

“You made a bad judgement call, we all do, Asuma. Your father did, I have, the Shodaime and Niidaime and Yondaime all have. Kakashi and Gai have, pick any example of a so called stellar shinobi and you'll find at least one mission they've fucked up because hindsight is aplenty and premonition nowhere to be found.” His gaze slid back to Asuma. “So what makes you so damn special? ”

 

Asuma's father had once told him, a long time ago, that no one blamed a person more for tragedy than one did themselves. It had been after Orochimaru's escape, when Asuma had confronted him over the terrible choice to let him go. It had been the reason he left the village, angry with his father and unwilling to face him. Ashamed of him.

 

“It's me, and not someone else,” he said at last. “Objectivity’s never been my strong point, Shikaku-sama.”

 

Shikaku, to his surprise, laughed a little. “Why do you think Sarutobi's have been pairing up with us other three clans since before Konohagakure was a twinkle in Senju Hashirama's eye, hmm?” Asuma managed his own chuckle at that, and Shikaku said, “leave the cold calculations to us.” Us, didn't of course mean the infamous Ino-Shika-Chō combination, it meant the Nara clan specifically. Assassins with medical knowledge and an entire pharmacy at their beck and call. The Naras were not a clan known for a gentle touch. Subtle, yes. Gentle? Only if you were a deer or very cute animal.

 

“So I'll bring the self recrimination and streamers to the party, then?” Asuma asked. Shikaku shook his head.

 

“Inoichi will want the streamers,” he said, before dropping back into business mode. “The point is, Shikamaru's due to be out of the hospital a week from now as long as nothing goes wrong.” Which it could, Asuma knew, especially since Shikaku's hand had curled into a fist just saying the words. “He'll still be in pain, when that happens and he'll be stuck at home at least another month.”

 

Of course he would. Wounds like that tended to sap every bit of possible chakra a shinobi had. Low chakra meant slow healing from the body. Outside help had to go slow too, least they overwhelm a usually more chakra laden system. It would take weeks for Shikamaru to rebuild those stores, and then there was conditioning to get back up to speed once he was cleared for training.

 

“He's not going to be happy about that, is he?” Asuma asked.

 

“Is any active shinobi?” Shikaku sighed, “Shikamaru's been called lazy plenty, but when he's motivated he's what Konoha aspires to offer to the world at large. And I say that as a tactician and commander, not a proud father.”

 

Well, Asuma thought, not _entirely_ as a proud father. Shikaku continued.

 

“He will want to catch up and he will be greatly frustrated by backsliding in everything from taijutsu to the techniques he's been learning since he was coordinated enough to form seals.”

 

Asuma translated the unsaid bit very easily. “I won't be the one to make it worse, Shikaku-sama.” It was a chance to make it up to the kid, at the very least. Shikaku seemed pleased with the answer, standing with a nod before clapping one hand on Asuma's shoulder.

 

“See that you don't, Asuma,” he said, hand squeezing more than was friendly and left. Asuma rubbed the now sore area absently.

 

Apparently the strangulation order was just on hold, for now.

 

* * *

  

Asuma dozed on the couch, relieved he had the day – no training, no meetings and no damn reports pestering him. Outside, a storm was starting, nothing more than a patter of rain right now, but it promised to grow quickly. Within his apartment the only sound was his breathing and the quiet tick of his clock. It was relaxing, more relaxing than the last three weeks. Kakashi and he had been riding Kotetsu and Izumo hard, not to mention each other, while the other Nijū Shōtai groups had to pick up the slack. Sure, they ran a few closer to home missions, but the Godaime was leery of letting Kakashi become too entrenched.

 

It wasn't going to happen, of course. Kakashi was too worried over Sakura and Sai and Naruto, and yes even Sasuke who, from what Asuma knew, didn't deserve the loyalty he inspired, to play house with a new team. Still, having a lightning jutsu _was_ nice. As he considered what would have to change once Kakashi was gone, a knock came from the door and Asuma levered himself up with a groan. It might be Ino, he knew, as she had taken up the habit of dropping off _proper_ meals after the time she realized he was living mostly on things you could eat without any prep work at all.

 

Grumbling, he padded over to the door, jerking it open and ready to tell her once again he was a grown man and didn't need her to go out of her way. Instead, he came face to face with Shikamaru. Well, it was more face to top of the head, as Shikamaru was resting against the door frame panting slightly, but still. Asuma knew he must have looked hilarious, blinking rapidly and mouth opening and closing silently. After a moment, Shikamaru looked up.

 

His face was pale, though not as pale as when he'd been in hospital. Dark rings circled his eyes, effects of both exhaustion and probably the weight loss. The wet from outside had gotten him, leaving him slightly damp in just an over large tee shirt and pants. Sputtering, Asuma resisted the urge to haul him inside.

 

“Kid,” he ushered Shikamaru in, steadying him. Underneath his hand he felt less muscle than before, and more bone. Izumo had been providing updates for the group, and the latest one had been trouble keeping food down or sleeping for longer than two hours at a time. Carefully, he had the teen sit down on the couch, mindful to allow him to lean on his relatively good side. In his hand Shikamaru was clutching a nondescript white bag which usually held prescriptions. His knuckles were white from the strain of his grasp.

 

“What are you _doing_ here?” Asuma asked, taking the bag after gently prying off Shikamaru's fingers. Fishing out the bottle within he frowned. Large and orange tinted, Asuma was not surprised by the prescription, even if it was disheartening. It was a lot of very strong painkillers, the size of the bottle, and the fact it had refills, said they expected him to need them for a while longer.

 

Slipping it back in, aware Shikamaru was watching him, he read rapidly through the usage. Two tablets three to four hours apart or as needed. Do not wait for pain to intensify...the usual stuff, though near the bottom in bright red _watch for fever_ was circled and underlined twice.

 

Well then.

 

“Kid?” he prompted again when no response came. Shikamaru was still breathing hard, but he did hold up a hand as if to say _give me a minute._

 

“Just...needed space,” he said at last. Asuma blinked.

 

“From what? Any bit of good health you've managed to get back?”

 

Shikamaru, despite looking like someone forgot to completely thaw death, managed a good glare. “No. Just...people...” he was pouting. “Every time I twitch someone is right _there_ asking if I'm dying or if I need to go back to the hospital.” He gave a little one shoulder shrug. “Just thought you might not be so jumpy.”

 

Nice try, Asuma thought, smiling wryly. He was probably twice as jumpy as anyone else the Nara was dealing with right now. He'd already almost let Shikamaru die. It wouldn't happen on his couch, dammit.

 

“So you walked all the way here?” he asked, “why not Izumo's?”

 

“I was at the pharmacy,” the boy mumbled, rubbing his eyes. His breath had finally evened out, to Asuma's relief. “Izumo was going to drop off the prescription before supper but...I needed...” he rubbed his eyes again. “I needed to _know_.”

 

To know he could do it. Asuma got it though, he did. Shikamaru was, by accounts, fairly willing to sleep under a tree or cloud watch, but Asuma knew shinobi training. The kid probably hadn't had more than three days without some sort of training or at least a very strenuous walk, since he was five. Six weeks in hospital, another almost two and a half in bed? He was probably out of his mind.

 

“Not the brightest thing, kid,” Asuma said, sitting next to him, careful not to upset his precarious balance. “Doesn't explain why you're here.”

 

“The rain,” Shikamaru said. “There was no way I was moving fast enough to get home before it got bad.”

 

Asuma sighed. “Well, better than getting sick, on top of everything,” he agreed. “But for the love of all things holy, don't do this again until you're cleared. Your family _runs_ the pharmacy – you know better.”

 

Shikamaru had the decency to flush a little, which also made him look marginally less terrifying. Still, Asuma couldn't quite check the urge to rest the back of his hand against his forehead. No unusual heat, but he could actually feel the tiny shakes of Shikamaru's entire body trying to collapse, and Shikamaru not letting it. Ignoring Shikamaru's tiny grunt of protest at the action he eyed the prescription.

 

“Need one of those?” he asked, and Shikamaru sighed again.

 

“I -yeah,” he said, “not sure how much it'll help. I can barely keep them down, most of the time.”

 

Right. Meds on an empty stomach were terrible. Gathering his thoughts, Asuma laid out a battle plan. “First thing – new, dry shirt,” Asuma said. “We'll do that while the soup is reheating, and then you'll lay down before you topple over and do more damage.” Shikamaru nodded, mouth tugged down slightly.

 

Asuma gently flicked his chin. “Don't be down, kid,” he said, “you'll bounce back. You're tougher than you're feeling right now.”

 

“Sure,” Shikamaru said, eyes dipping downward. Asuma shook his head – they could have pep talk time later. Slipping into his room, it wasn't hard to pick a shirt. The one Shikamaru wore was already large and obviously his father's, no doubt to make it easier to check bandages and not rub against any wounds that were still sore but didn't need proper cover. Tugging an old, dull grey tee shirt, the ends of it's long sleeves ragged with age. It had left Konoha with him all those years ago, and he'd brought it back with him out of nostalgia.

 

It hadn't been worn in a decade so it was quite clean at this point, and he'd been a bit less broadly shouldered during the time he actively wore it. Shikamaru would still be swimming in it, but that was the point. Tucking it under his arm he headed back into his living room, draping it over the back of the couch before detouring to the kitchen.

 

Asuma wasn't the world's greatest cook, no, but he hadn't survived this long as a bachelor without picking up a few things. Same with all things medical – one did not survive over twenty years in the rank and file without figuring out the ins and outs of various injuries and maladies. Grabbing his milk and the small container of dashi Ino had given to him, he set them both down. He'd needed those after all, he guessed. Taking a glass from the counter he asked, “you're all right with milk? Doesn't make you sick at all?”

 

“No,” Shikamaru said a little distantly. Asuma immediately poured a small glass, presenting it to Shikamaru who took it carefully. As he drank – slowly to mitigate the fact it was cold – Asuma opened the pill bottle, offering two little white tablets. Shikamaru took them after only a moment's hesitation – either he hated medication or they really weren't sitting well.

 

“Now let's get you out of your death trap, hmm?”

 

“It's barely damp,” Shikamaru grumbled, but complied when Asuma tugged at the hem of the dark shirt. It wasn't easy, Shikamaru could only barely move his entire right side, blanching with pain at every tiny tug. It made Asuma wince in sympathy, but finally they got the first shirt _off_.

 

The last time Asuma had seen Shikamaru's side, it had been a red, terrifying mess no one could close without endangering him _more_. Now, it was innocently tucked away under a large swath of bandages and medical tape. The burns across his back had healed at least, leaving two new, tender looking scars like wide lash marks curving across his left hand hip and ribs. Shikamaru shifted slightly, hand tightening on his discarded shirt.

 

“Can we get the other one on now?” he asked, not looking up, gaze fixed on Asuma's knee. His mobile arm crossed across his stomach a little protectively as he spoke, and Asuma's gaze softened considerably.

 

“Yeah kid,” he said, “no problem.” Well, a bit of a problem considering it was no easier getting a shirt _on_ than off, but they managed. Afterwards Asuma gently directed him to lay down. “Soup upcoming,” he said, as Shikamaru shifted a bit on his stomach. Shikamaru nodded.

 

“Don't burn it,” he said softly, eyes dropping shut.

 

“Punk,” Asuma said, grinning.

 

* * *

 

 Despite the vicious storm pelting the windows and tearing at the sky, Asuma was jerked awake in the wee hours of the morning by a quiet gasp coming from his room. Moving quickly he was in the bedroom in a second flat, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Kid?” he called softly. He could see Shikamaru outlined, half pushed up, back moving up and down rapidly. His hair, which he'd refused to take down, had slipped out in several cases and the blankets were at his side in a tangle.

 

Night terrors. It was hardly a surprise – Shikamaru had every reason to be terrified. Asuma hadn't had half as harrowing an experience, and yet still he kept seeing Nauma's surprised expression, Shikamaru laying in that hall – Chiriku dumped in a cloth sack in the floor. Over and over and over almost every night.

 

He couldn't imagine what monsters Shikamaru was seeing.

 

“Shikamaru,” he called again, stepping toward him slowly. Still no response. Kneeling, he tilted his head to see Shikamaru's face. His eyes were wide and unseeing, staring at his pillow as a few tears leaked out. His mouth was clamped shut as he breathed heavily through his nose, and Asuma brought up his hand to touch him, before setting it back down.

 

Everyone got nightmares – in a lot of ways their job was positively nightmarish. Some people you could touch to wake up, some people didn't take it well at all. Some people responded to their name, some people didn't seem to hear a word. Some people wanted to be woken, some did not. Asuma had no clue which of these Shikamaru was, sadly, and this wasn't a normal nightmare. He was awake, but whatever he was _seeing_ persisted.

 

“Shikamaru, it's not happening anymore,” Asuma said carefully, “you're awake, now. It's all right.” Not so much to Asuma's surprise, it did not work. “Shikamaru. Come on, kid. You're awake and no matter what, it's not going to get you here. You're awake.” Carefully – because if this went wrong Shikamaru could hurt himself _very_ badly – Asuma placed a gentle hand on one trembling forearm.

 

It tensed further under him for a second, and Asuma tensed too, ready to react as needed. “It's just me, Shikamaru. Asuma.”

 

After a second, there was a shaky exhalation from Shikamaru, and he went limp, though he remained half raised. Relieved, Asuma rubbed a gentle hand on the limited safe-space between his shoulder blades, kneading gently at the obvious stress knot. He wasn't sure what to say – _it's okay_ felt disingenuous, at best. Asuma wasn't the one in constant pain, he didn't get to decide when things got to be better.

 

“It doesn't even make sense,” Shikamaru said at last, voice thick. “I – the part I keep dreaming about doesn't...nothing even happened but every night I -” his voice hitched, and he swallowed audibly. “He keeps asking me about my dad, over and over – he wanted to know if we were close and, and...” Shikamaru shook his head, almost tipping over. Asuma steadied him. “It doesn't make sense. It's not even the part where he hurt me.”

 

“Doesn't matter,” Asuma said. “He frightened you long before he hurt you. Your brain can't do much about the pain part, it's just...dealing with the scared part.”

 

“I don't want to be scared.”

 

Asuma chuckled, hand coming to a stop, just resting. “Scared isn't great,” he admitted, “but if you run from it, it follows you like a bad habit. Believe me.”

 

“Know about bad habits, Asuma?” the teen asked, turning to look at him, face wet with tears. Asuma knew it wasn't asked out of spite, not really. Even if it stung a little.

 

“And running, too,” he said using the bed sheet to dry Shikamaru's face. “Turns out, neither work so well. One takes you into the mouth of the beast, and falling back on bad habits is same as falling on a blade.”

 

“'m dad said something like that, once,” Shikamaru said, finally dropping back down to his stomach in a slow, shaky movement. “Only it was more like 'don't be such a coward'.”

 

“Did it work?”

 

“More or less,” Shikamaru mumbled into his pillow. “Can I have some meds, before I actually fall asleep?”

 

“Course,” Asuma reached for the bottle next to him, “need water?”

 

“Not really.”

 

Asuma got some anyway, seeing as the glass was right there and the bathroom less than five feet away. Shikamaru seemed thankful, even for the assistance in getting upright enough to drink, and Asuma was surprised when a rather weak grasp curled around his arm as he got up to leave. Shikamaru wasn't looking at him, of course, so Asuma waited a moment, unsure.

 

“Can you...” he drifted off, uncertain, not dazed, from what Asuma could tell without seeing his face. “Could you just...not leave...” he somehow managed to look away even harder without so much as twitching.

 

Asuma blinked, once then again before settling down next to Shikamaru on the floor. He'd rested in worse places, really. “Sure,” he said, “no problem.”

 

* * *

  

Kakashi was the first to spot him, stopping in the middle of throwing Kotetsu into a mud puddle to wave jauntily at someone coming down the road. Instinctively, Kotetsu turned, only to end up face first in the aforementioned puddle, instead of ass-first. Swearing as he tried to wave and managed, at least, to get some mud on Kakashi's mask as revenge.

 

“And the usurper is here,” the silver haired jōnin said, though the slight crinkle of his eye indicated genuine happiness. “I'm heartbroken.”

 

“Well then,” Shikamaru said, leaning against a tree, arms crossed. “Patch yourself back up – I'm on a short running break, right now. No training for me until Monday, on pain of indefinite bed rest.”

 

“So cruel,” Kakashi said, nodding, while Kotetsu, now standing and very brown, scoffed.

 

“No training my ass – we were in cryptography yesterday. Your writing was _everywhere_ on Rikugou-san's desk papers.”

 

“Thinking isn't training,” Shikamaru said. “Or that hard, for most of us.” Kotetsu flailed a little, while Izumo chuckled fondly.

 

“It's just sparring, you're banned from, right now, no?”

 

“You've been talking to my mom again,” Shikamaru said, gaze sliding up to the sky, “but yeah. Been having lots of fun with push ups.”

 

“More or less fun than those chin ups?” Izumo asked. Shikamaru pulled a face.

 

“Way less fun,” he said. “Those were killer,” he shook his head, “but I suppose that's the point of retraining.”

 

“Constant pain,” Kakashi agreed, “as long as your appetite is back, you're on the right road.”

 

The look Shikamaru gave him, one eyebrow cocked and otherwise completely deadpan, spoke volumes. Asuma laughed.

 

“Go finish your run,” he said, “we'll see you Monday, kid.”

 

“Lucky me,” Shikamaru said, but Asuma could see the smile tugging at his mouth, even as he turned back to jogging.

 

“He's excited,” Izumo said, Kotetsu squinted at his friend. “Trust me. He's excited.”

 

“I'm not,” Kotetsu said. “He's gonna be so out shape but he's still gonna beat us half the time. I hate fighting Naras.”

 

“You live you learn,” Asuma said, “now, let's get back to learning not to turn our backs on Kakashi, hmm?”

 

* * *

 

Asuma sighed as the sun beat down on his back, rubbing his neck. Two weeks running around Fire Country, hunting lowlifes and Akatsuki alike, meant even five minutes at a dango stand was like a vacation. Overlooking his options – he'd bought probably more than he needed – he was still hemming and hawing when a very familiar voice said, “there's no way you can eat all those.”

 

Asuma turned to look at Shikamaru who was just over his head, a small smirk playing at his lips. “So says the know-it-all,” he said. “I'll have you know, I can eat a lot.” Shikamaru cocked an eyebrow. “Don't look at me like that, Nara,” he said, “I know you're comparing me to Akimichis right now and I'm calling bias.”

 

“You're not sizing up well,” Shikamaru agreed, sliding forward so he was leaning on the counter with Asuma, hip to hip. Without asking, he plucked one of the sticks and bit one off. Asuma raised an eyebrow, cuffing him on the back of the head a little awkwardly.

 

“I've said it before, but you're a punk,” he told Shikamaru, “kusa dango are some of my favourites.” Wordlessly, because he was still chewing, likely, Shikamaru pointed the stick at Asuma as if to say _so take one_. Asuma was stymied for a moment – the last person he'd done _that_ with was a girl in the Capital which had lead to...fun. But _obviously_ that was not what was happening here.

 

“Take it or leave it,” Shikamaru said, “because my arm's getting tired.”

 

Asuma ate the damn dango, frowning the entire time. Shikamaru's smirk grew at the look, until there was a hint of teeth threatening to turn the look into an actual smile. Asuma scooped up the rest of his dango, nodding to the lady smiling widely at them in thanks. Shikamaru tagged along in an easy, loping stride. Asuma hooked an arm around his shoulder, ignoring the squawk of protest.

 

“Revenge. Deal," he said, chewing a new dango piece, "so what, you bored?” Asuma asked, as the kid finished off the last two dango on the stick. Shikamaru shrugged. “Lonely?” Asuma tried again – most of his friends were on missions right now after all.

 

“Tch,” Shikamaru looked away quickly, but no quite quickly enough to cover the fact he'd gone a little pink. “Hardly.”

 

“Right,” Asuma said. “Which is why you're here, with me. Instead of cloud watching on your day off.”

 

“Troublesome old man,” Shikamaru said, just as a haggard looking genin appeared in front of them. Asuma dropped his arm.

 

“Nara-san, Sarutobi-san,” she panted, “squad twelve – Godaime-sama wants you to report in now.” Next to him, Shikamaru had gone very still, and Asuma didn't have to check to know he was right at Asuma's heels as they raced to the tower.

 

* * *

  

Asuma found Shikamaru at a small, rather shabby, shogi house tucked away near Konoha's wall. For a moment he didn't say anything, just watched the boy play against himself, face drawn. Finally as the game came to a close Asuma sat.

 

“It wasn't your fault,” he told Shikamaru, who was busy rearranging the board so the white pieces were at Asuma's end.

 

“I analyzed all the Hidan information,” he said, “but couldn't offer anything useful on his partner and now an entire team almost died before the two were together, not apart.”

 

“Sasshi was an idiot who assumed he knew more about Hidan than you because he's twice your age,” Asuma said blandly, “and that he understood what happened more then Izumo or Kotetsu because he's a jōnin.” He pushed his first piece into place. You could tell a lot about someone's mood by their shogi game.

 

“He could have been right, about me,” Shikamaru said, “I wasn't there, did even hear the after action report. Just read the open file.”

 

“And heard the story in groups and individually from every person who _did_ fight Hidan,” Asuma said, crooking an eyebrow as Shikamaru moved a rook, not the bishop Asuma would have gone for. “What happened to his team is on him,” Asuma said. “Nothing your over all report says is anything short of true, Shikamaru. Or brilliant.”

 

Shikamaru shook his head, moving his next piece in response to Asuma. He was moving slowly, which meant he was _open_ to talking, at least. “It wasn't enough,” he pointed out at last. Asuma shrugged, pulling out a cigarette.

 

“For some people, it never will be,” Asuma said. “You smoke?”

 

“No,” Shikamaru said. Most people didn't, it was Asuma's vice of choice, however. “Hey Asuma,” he said after a moment of deliberating, “I never said sorry. For your friends from the Guardians.”

 

Asuma moved another pawn. “It's all right kid,” he said. “Sorry doesn't do much to fix it, and they wouldn't be.” Even if _he_ was.

 

Shikamaru didn't respond, just moved another piece.

 

The game was a long one, but only because Shikamaru was prolonging Asuma's inevitable end. When he finally took Asuma's kind the bearded man shook his head. “You could have done that seven moves back,” he said. Shikamaru offered a shrug.

 

“Eight, yeah but...” he trailed off.

 

“I'd have hung around, embarrassing defeat or not,” Asuma said. Shikamaru gave him an inscrutable look, somewhere between alarmed and pleased. “That said, I'm pretty sure they're trying to close.” Shikamaru nodded, putting some ryo on the counter before wordlessly walking out.

 

“Sorry about that,” Asuma said, “bad day, you know.” The old lady chuckled.

 

“Shinobi and bad days are like cats and fur,” she said, “and if I took offence at the quiet I'd be out a husband.” Asuma laughed, nodding a goodnight before jogging to catch up with the teen.

 

“At least you didn't ditch me with the bill.”

 

“Hnn.”

 

Asuma raised both eyebrow, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Want to explain the complete shut down, Shikamaru?”

 

The silence stretched out until: “Asuma, why don't you date?”

 

Asuma's shoulders dropped as he tried to think of where _that_ came from. “I've been busy, you'll have noticed,” he said, “want to answer my question now?”

 

“You're not always busy,” Shikamaru said, apparently _not_ wanting to play ball. “You spend time with me that's not training all the time.”

 

“Team bonding,” Asuma said.

 

“Except you don't go with Izumo and Kotetsu.”

 

“I do too,” Asuma said, not entirely sure _why_ this was an issue. Did Shikamaru feel smothered?

 

“Only when I'm there,” Shikamaru said. He wasn't looking directly at Asuma. His hands, like Asuma's, were in his pockets, but his shoulders were hunched and he was staring at his toes like they'd suddenly become very interesting.

 

“Do you need some free time?” Asuma asked, “I didn't think-”

 

“No that's not...” Shikamaru made a frustrated sound. “I just don't get why. All right?”

 

“All right,” Asuma said, mildly mystified. “I don't see...” he too trailed off just as he was about to ask what connection this had to his love life. Oh no.

 

“I gotta go,” Shikamaru mumbled, and before the dazed Sarutobi could _address_ the elephant in the village, he was on the rooftops racing toward his clan lands, leaving Asuma to stand in the streets, bewildered.

 

* * *

  

“Is there a reason you're on my couch, and not your own?”

 

Asuma put out his cigarette as Kakashi came in, flicking it out the window he'd come in. “I have a problem.”

 

“Smoking? Yeah we tried an intervention once,” Kakashi said, putting his groceries down. “You threw senbon at us.”

 

“Shikamaru has a crush on me,” Asuma said, ignoring the snark.

 

“Ah,” the other jōnin said. “That.”

 

“That?” Asuma gave him an almost wild look, aware he was overreacting a little and not caring. “What do you mean _,_ that?”

 

“Everyone knows,” Kakashi said as if this wasn't a big deal at all. “It's not super obvious, I guess, if you're not aware of what Naras are like in general. But he comes off as a kid begging for attention, if you do know.”

 

“He does not,” Asuma said, mouth running on autopilot as his brain ran through the last month and a half, or so. “I've seen him smile twice maybe. He says _tch_ at me.”

 

“Go ask people who've known him since school, how they match up,” Kakashi said. “I promise you the only people out striping that smile record are Ino and Chōji.”

 

“He's a kid.” He watched Kakashi raise his only visible eyebrow as if to say _duh_. “I should mind more.”

 

“Like you said,” Kakashi settled across from him, pulling out a banana from his bag. “He's a kid.”

 

“No – no. I mean I should really, really mind way more.”

 

Kakashi pulled off a piece of banana. “Ah. That.”

 

Asuma scowled, swiping the rest of the banana. “Do not 'that' me Kakashi,” he said, “this is an actual problem. I'm twice his age.”

 

“Almost,” Kakashi agreed. “But honestly, Asuma? If he was ten years, even two years, older, everyone who saw you together would assume you were dating. Some do anyway. It's not like he's a bad looking kid.” The banana in Asuma's hand practically liquified. “Those aren't in season,” Kakashi said, “you owe me one.”

 

“I hate you,” Asuma said. Kakashi shrugged. “Shikaku's going to cut my balls off, Kashi.” Kakashi eyed him. “I'll buy you another fucking banana, you masked dick, if you'll be helpful.”

 

“That's the spirit,” Kakashi said.

 

* * *

 

Asuma had been expecting the knock on his door all day, really. Training days off didn't happen too often, but when they did it was, apparently, at a really awkward time. Still, when it came just past nine in the evening his almost jumped off his couch. The three or so steps to the door were very painful, and Asuma tried not to open it as if he were afraid of what was on the other side.

 

Shikamaru's head, wet from the rain outside, greeted him as the teen refused to look up.

 

“Evening, kid,” Asuma said as evenly as possible.

 

“Yeah,” Shikamaru said, crossing his arms before dropping them again, “sure. Look I just wanted to apologize for yesterday it was...really stupid and won't happen again. Promise.” He turned to leave, obviously embarrassed beyond belief, and Asuma barely caught the back of his shirt, dragging the teen into his apartment with mild resistance.

 

“Nice try,” Asuma said, “but sit down.” Shikamaru did as directed, though his arms were back to being crossed and his jaw jutted out into a borderline pout. With his wet clothing, it wasn't very intimidating.

 

“Look,” he said, “I know last night was dumb. I'm sorry I shouldn't have said anything at all.”

 

Asuma pulled out a cigarette, stalling for time before he answered. “It happens,” he said, “don't worry about it.”

 

“But it _was_ stupid,” Shikamaru argued, feet drawing up to perch on Asuma's poor coffee table, bringing his knees toward his chin. “The whole thing is stupid.”

 

“Nah,” Asuma said, trying to go for assurance. “You're young. And it's not like it's an insult – you're hardly hideous. And not usually that bad to hang out with.”

 

Shikamaru didn't respond. Outside, the rain came down harder.

 

“That night – after I got out of the hospital...it was the first night I got back to sleep after a nightmare and didn't wake up until morning,” he said softly. “That's not – I'm not saying that – I mean I just -” Asuma put a hand on his shoulder.

 

“I get it,” he said. Shikamaru shrugged him off.

 

“No you don't,” Shikamaru said, “I'm being stupid, like I said. It's pointless to keeping liking someone who doesn't feel the same.”

 

“Yeah,” Asuma agreed, “though that doesn't make it go away and I,” he paused. Right here was where he either acted like the sane adult he was, or did something criminally stupid. “I never said that. About the liking, bit.”

 

“You what?” Shikamaru's eyes widened even as his brow drew down, a classic look of confusion. It would be funny, if it weren't such an awkward moment. “Is that a joke?”

 

Asuma frowned, feeling a touch defensive at the statement. “No,” he said, “it damn well is not. I'm not playing you, Shikamaru.”

 

Shikamaru's response was to stand very suddenly, almost kicking the coffee table into Asuma. “I should,” he gestured to the door, “I mean I _should_ really but,” he took a deep breath, scratching his neck. “I should go.” Asuma was kind of impressed with how red he was.

 

“True,” Asuma said. Obviously, this was the mature, sensible thing to do. Asuma was thirty two – Shikamaru was barely seventeen and really, where would it go? Shikamaru, however, seemed to have finally struggled past his awkward crush-stuttering and was now giving Asuma the same evaluating look he did most things.

 

“But I could also not go,” he said at last, managing to flush _more_ as he looked everywhere but at Asuma.

 

Mature. Adult. “Also true.”

 

Which was how he ended up on his couch with a lap full of chūnin. For a moment he was surprised, which he shouldn't have been considering the fact Shikamaru was a shinobi, not a blushing civilian. Virgin or not – which hadn't actually come up – he was going to be fast. Hand curling around Shikamaru's neck Asuma redirected the kiss a little, allowing for a better angel. Generally, he was the one tilting down in a kiss, because it was fairly rare to find someone who's head came higher than mouth height.

 

Still, he was adaptable, and he did find that this position was terrific for coping a feel without anyone getting offended. Shikamaru's ass really was, at the moment, the most obvious and natural resting place for his free hand. Shikamaru's own hands seemed more interested in his hair, one gripping tight at the back of his skull.

 

The other was currently tracing a path through Asuma's beard, fingers curled and scratching lightly along his jaw. “The fuck did you learn that?” Asuma asked, pulling away from the kiss. Shikamaru grinned. He'd look almost at ease, if the pink wasn't lingering to much.

 

“Not from someone with a beard,” he said. His breath was coming a bit fast, and from the press of their bodies Asuma could feel the elevated heart beat. “Does it still work?”

 

“Eh,” Asuma said, “you'll maybe want to try again.”

 

* * *

 

 Asuma's bedroom wasn't very large, but since Asuma only ever used the floor for impromptu clothing storage, it really didn't matter. Turned out, it still didn't matter when there was a second person involved, as long as you were both on the bed. Shikamaru lay draped across Asuma, his hand curled under Asuma's shirt, fingers splayed against his ribs as the kiss dragged out. Lips brushing almost languidly, Asuma slipped his own hand under Shikamaru's shirt. He felt the other tense immediately as his fingers quickly brushed the edge of the scars there.

 

“That hurt?” he asked despite the very scant millimetres between their lips. Shikamaru shook his head.

 

“Just haven't er...engaged...since I got them,” Shikamaru said. “They're...not pretty.”

 

“Most aren't,” Asuma nipped at Shikamaru's narrow jaw, redirecting the kiss entirely, “doesn't matter.” He gently laved the spot he'd bitten – not enough for a hickey but enough to draw a quiet sigh.

 

“No it doesn't,” Shikamaru said, settling a little more firmly across Asuma's hips. With his legs splayed that wide his balance couldn't have been terrific, but it wasn't like he had anywhere to fall. “Do you know what does matter? The fact all this clothing is still on.”

 

It was so matter of fact Asuma had to laugh, but he did comply, wriggling out of his shirt while Shikamaru managed to tug his off with less effort. Neither gave the other much time to do any sort of evaluation, Asuma jerking Shikamaru down for a kiss as the chūnin raked his fingers down Asuma's rib, eliciting a small shudder from the jōnin. His retaliation was simple, grabbing a hold of Shikamaru's hips and directing them into a roll, but it worked.

 

Either Shikamaru was very sensitive, or simply hadn't been expecting the brush of their trapped erections, because he jerked once before managing to catch the rhythm. Slow and steady, it was maddening, creating a mounting heat without proper friction. After a moment, Asuma gave up and forcefully flipped them, earning a surprised grunt from Shikamaru.

 

“Pants,” was all he said, voice husky. Shikamaru complied with a few creative wriggles, Asuma helping by jerking them down and throwing them to the side once they were open.

 

“Is this a one way thing?” Shikamaru asked, but was cut off from any further smartass comments by the very simple fact Asuma wrapped a hand around his cock. The sound he made instead was a cross between a startled yelp and a groan, and Asuma grinned, leaning in close.

 

“I'm not nearly polite enough for this to be a _one way thing,_ kid,” he said, running his thumb from tip to base.

 

“Ah,” was the reply as Shikamaru jerked his hips some. His mouth, seemingly instinctively, fell to Asuma's shoulder, biting down lightly. “G-good.” Despite his dip in eloquence, he managed Asuma's button pretty well, wrestling open the offending fabric without assistance or anything even vaguely related to help. In the name of equality, however, Asuma did deign to shove the pants and underwear down further as he swiped his thumb through the pre-cum gathered at Shikamaru's tip, and smearing it down.

 

“Asuma,” he breathed, head falling to the jōnin's shoulder as his hands clutched at the broad back, “fucking _do_ something I swear to-”

 

He was cut of by Asuma doing. Wrapping a large hand around both of them, he ground down, smiling a little at the strangled moan and glare Shikamaru gave him. Smiled more when he threw his head back, eyes squeezed shut.

 

“Is that enough?” he teased, grinding down and nipping once more at the chūnin's jaw. Shikamaru managed a nod, one hand migrating from it's clutched position on Asuma's back into his hair, tugging him into a tangle of lips and tongues far more fast paced than before. Shikamaru was not, it seemed, a passive lover, demanding action and entrance to Asuma's mouth in equal parts.

  
As before, Asuma complied. Shikamaru's tongue flicked against his, quick and gentle before returning to swipe at his bottom lip or wrap more pointedly around for a second in a quick, sucking motion. Boy was good with his mouth, was mostly what Asuma's getting from this, and really liked kissing, if the tiny whimper Shikamaru gave when Asuma sucked on his tongue was any indication.

 

The obvious conclusion to that made him pump harder, earning a sharp arch and cry from Shikamaru who gave a tiny pulse of extra pre-cum before coming very prettily, head thrown back and hips jerking, with a low cry that bordered on a sigh. Face flushed and eyes glazed he seemed to watch Asuma for a moment after before he lay back, tugging Asuma with him. Asuma's cock, which was more than ready to be finished with this, met stomach, soft skin over hard muscle, and he felt Shikamaru drag a kiss from his pulse point to his ear.

 

“Come, Asuma,” he said softly, hand kneading his lower back, pulling Asuma into a slow, hard grind, his hot breath hitting Asuma's neck and ear.

 

With a low growl, Asuma complied.

 

* * *

 

 Summer had finally settled over Konohagakure, heat forcing those with the option to stay in doors. Most shinobi didn't have that option, but it did not properly matter – they were prepared. Squads from the Nijū Shōtai were arranged at the gate, preparing to leave and corner the Akatsuki duo who had been harrying the countryside for almost three months, now.

 

Asuma overlooked his team, assessing them silently. Each face was a mask of grim determination, each body a tense line that read _bring it_. As he turned and silently gestured for them to follow, the other squads mimicking them and heading in their own directions, he had to smile a little deprecatingly.

 

Once upon a time, Asuma had left home with no intention or returning, but here he was. Now, he was leaving again with the knowledge returning might be very hard. He had reasons to come back, and to bring everyone with him, though, and he had ever intention of doing so.

 

Besides, he owed Konohamaru a lunch date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go! I know it's very long, but I tried to fit in several general prompts for you, imadra_blue. I'll put this apology at the end, since I didn't want to ruin this by drawing attention to the fact ; it's largely unbeta'd. At the last minute my beta had to drop out, and as you can see it's a bit too monstrous to drop on someone the day before it's due. I tried to fit your requested characters in, but sadly most aside from Asuma and Shikamaru only got cameos.
> 
> Various mistakes aside, I really hope you enjoyed this, it was a pleasure to write it for you.


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